The Dragon and the Wolf
by jennagreenpotter
Summary: The story of Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen in Game of Thrones during Season 7, including my own interpretation of some missing moments that could have happened off-screen.
1. Prologue: The Prince That Was Promised

**Based on events during Episode 2-3 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

_**~ Daenerys ~**_

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen had still not quite recovered from the overwhelming surge of triumph she had felt on arriving at Dragonstone at last. She knew the image of her three beloved dragons soaring above the huge looming castle for the first time would stay imprinted in her mind and heart forever. Having been forced away from this place at such a young age, she could not remember the true home of House Targaryen, but she had thought longingly about it every day. The island on which she was born, the continent her family had ruled for centuries. And now, after all the trials and battles and torment she had been put through…she was finally here. She was home.

The infamous Mother of Dragons had travelled far to get back to Westeros, the place she knew she was destined to rule over, and yet it seemed she was not the only one determined enough to make the troubling journey here. Merely days after Daenerys and her entourage had arrived and settled on this gloomy rock, there came an interruption during one of many small war council meetings in the chamber of the painted table – otherwise known as the map room – inside the ancient castle. A red priestess from As'shai, by the name of Melisandre, had turned up at the castles' doorstep, with urgent business to discuss with the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Little did Daenerys know just how much of a difference granting an audience with the Red Woman would make to her life and to the future of the Seven Kingdoms.

While a thunderstorm raged outside in the cold night air, Daenerys and her trusted companions – Tyrion Lannister, her Hand; Missandai, her advisor and handmaiden; and Grey Worm and Lord Varys, her other advisors – assembled in the audience chamber, a magnificent hall empty all but for the grand throne that stood at the far end. The renowned priestess, Melisandre, was stood waiting patiently for them in the centre of the impressive hall, wrapped up in a dark burgundy cloak. Once they had exchanged pleasantries, Daenerys naturally took the lead in addressing the purpose of the mysterious Melisandre's visit all the way to this distant island.

'The Lord of Light doesn't have many followers in Westeros, does he?' Daenerys prompted, intrigued by her visitor.

'Not yet,' Melisandre admitted, raising her elegantly-shaped eyebrows. 'But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.'

'What does your Lord expect from me?' Daenerys asked.

In answer, Melisandre began to speak in Valyrian: '_The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn_.'

'"The prince who was promised will bring the dawn",' Daenerys repeated, for the sake of those in the assembled group who could not understand Valyrian, and she paused, somewhat unimpressed by Melisandre's statement. 'I'm afraid I'm not a prince.'

'Your Grace,' Missandei interjected softly, 'forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate. _That_ noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be…"the prince or prin_cess_ who was promised will bring the dawn."'

'Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?' Tyrion said dryly.

'No, but I like it better,' Daenerys said, smiling, and she turned back to Melisandre. 'And you believe this prophecy refers to me?'

'Prophecies are…dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play,' Melisandre replied calmly, 'as does another – the King in the North, Jon Snow.'

Daenerys' smile faltered slightly. That name was unfamiliar to her. And his supposed title of 'King' certainly did not bode well.

'Jon Snow?' Tyrion said bewilderedly, frowning. 'Ned Stark's bastard?'

His tone interested Daenerys; she turned to face him. 'You know him?' she asked Tyrion sharply, and she felt a slight twinge of annoyance, as if she already felt threatened by this stranger.

'I…travelled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch,' Tyrion replied, sounding perplexed.

'And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow? Aside from the visions you've seen in the flames, that is?' Varys added hastily, raising his eyebrows sceptically at the Red Priestess.

'As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall…to protect them from great danger. As King in the North, he has united those Wildlings with the Northern houses so together they may face their common enemy,' Melisandre explained.

Suddenly, Daenerys found her instinctive reaction about this unknown person changing altogether. 'He sounds like quite a man,' she said, although her face was set in a stony expression.

Melisandre's lips twitched, seemingly relieved. 'Summon Jon Snow,' she urged, and there seemed to be a flicker of desperation barely concealed in her voice. 'Let him stand before you and tell you things that have happened to him. The things that he has seen with his own eyes.'

Tyrion took a step towards Daenerys. 'I can't speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him…and I am an excellent judge of character,' he said encouragingly, and Daenerys smiled at him. 'If he does rule the North, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.'

Daenerys paused for a moment, considering his words. She was unwilling to let any competition step into her midst and threaten her position or create any obstacle in her way to claiming the Iron Throne. But then again, this Jon Snow sounded like he was an honourable man, from what little Melisandre and Tyrion had just told her. Perhaps he could be persuaded to lose his ridiculous title of 'King in the North', if he were to meet the true rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Her eyes flickered sideways to take in the earnest expression on Melisandre's face; it was this that led Daenerys to reluctantly come to a decision.

'Very well,' she said firmly to Tyrion, as the thunder continued to clatter outside. 'Send a raven north. Tell Jon Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone...and bend the knee.'

Tyrion had been nodding in agreement until those last three words, but Daenerys could tell from the apprehensive look on his face that he disapproved of her final demand. Nevertheless, even though he was her Hand, she would have to insist on this matter – she required fealty from anyone who wanted to form an alliance with her, otherwise there was simply no point in them meeting at all. Daenerys was not one for dealing with time-wasters; she had far more important issues to deal with – claiming back her throne and saving the Seven Kingdoms from the likes of the evil, twisted Cersei Lannister being the utmost priority.

The thunder continued to be loud and monstrous throughout the night as everyone in the castle tried to sleep, but it was the thought of this mysterious Jon Snow that was keeping Daenerys awake and agitated. Who even was this man? What could possibly be so special about him for a Red Priestess to claim that Daenerys alone was not powerful enough…that Jon Snow also had a significant role to play in ending this 'Long Night' she spoke of?

Missandei's words from earlier in the audience chamber kept ringing through Daenerys' mind, as if they were playing on a loop…_'The proper translation for that prophecy would be…"the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn."'_

But prince or princess? Daenerys Targaryen or Jon Snow? Daenerys sighed heavily as she tried to drown out the sound of the ferocious storm outside with her pillow. She had no idea why the thought of his visit bothered her so…after all, she could easily challenge him if need be – she had three dragons and an army of thousands. And, most importantly, she had herself. Besides, it was more than likely that she'd have no reason to spare Jon Snow another moments' thought once Tyrion had sent off the raven; he probably wouldn't accept the invitation to meet her at Dragonstone anyway. Only a fool would do that.

* * *

_**~ Jon ~**_

A thin layer of frost was slowly but surely beginning to cover the grounds of the Winterfell courtyard as the Northern children learnt how to shoot with a bow and arrow. Jon Snow watched the training solemnly from the upper levels, while he waited for Sana Stark, his half-sister, and Ser Davos Seaworth, his principal advisor, to finish reading the message that had just arrived by raven.

'Do you think it's really Tyrion?' Sansa asked from behind Jon, and she looked up from the scroll in her hands. 'It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap.'

'Read the last bit,' Jon said heavily, still keeping his eyes on the children training down below on the yard.

'"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes",' Sansa read aloud, and she frowned, confused. 'What does that mean?'

'It's something he said to me the first night we met,' Jon replied, and he turned to face his sister. 'You know him better than any of us. What do you think?'

Sansa paused as she looked back at the parchment in her hands, thinking deeply. 'Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters,' she admitted. 'He was always kind to me, but it's too great a risk. "The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny"…'

Ser Davos gently took the parchment from Sansa and read over Tyrion's words. 'Sounds like a charmer,' he said, but then he raised his eyebrows cynically. 'Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied and three dragons…a bit less charming.'

Davos then frowned, clearly pondering something. Jon hadn't known Ser Davos for that long, but he still knew the look on his advisor's face that meant a thought had struck.

'What?' he asked.

'Fire kills wights, you told me. What breathes fire?' Davos pointed out, and Jon sighed as he realised what Davos was getting at; he turned away, his lips twitching slightly.

Sansa was smiling sceptically. 'You're not suggesting Jon meet with her?' she asked bemusedly with a frown, somewhat aghast.

'No, too dangerous,' Davos replied at once.

'But?' Jon asked sharply.

'But if the Army of the Dead makes it past the Wall…do we have enough men to fight them?' Davos said.

Jon didn't answer; he didn't need to. He turned back to look out over the courtyard, where all his people were preparing for the long, deadly winter…and training for the inevitable battle against the Army of the Dead. Davos was right…they didn't stand a chance, no matter how much training they did. There simply weren't enough people to match the White Walkers. But maybe Daenerys Targaryen's dragons could help defeat them once and for all.

Jon brooded over their predicament for the next few days, and as the atmosphere around Winterfell grew more tense and afraid, he found himself constantly referring back to the narrow piece of parchment that he kept in his chambers. Tyrion had worded the invitation to Dragonstone very diplomatically; there were no threats, no demands, no intimidating message. It was merely asking if Jon were willing to form an alliance with Daenerys…an answer that Jon could not give, because he simply did not know.

The stories of Daenerys Targaryen were not unfamiliar to him; Jon had heard the whispers of 'the Targaryen girl' for years now, ever since he had joined the Night's Watch. He had heard how this enigma of a woman had ascended from nothing to conquer and rule over numerous cities, refusing to leave for Westeros to claim back the Iron Throne until the freedom of the former slaves was secure. She sounded like quite a woman. A force to be reckoned with, that was certain. He didn't like to admit it, especially not to Sansa or Davos, but the truth was, the thought of this Daenerys intimidated Jon. She had risen from the ashes to become something extraordinary and rule the Seven Kingdoms, so what would she want with a bastard like himself? He couldn't imagine any good coming of Tyrion's proposed meeting between the two unlikely comrades, and he told himself this view repeatedly as the days passed, trying to convince himself that he was right to ignore the invitation, that it would be safer for everyone involved, including his people at Winterfell, if he stayed and not risk everything for three dragons (who he doubted even existed).

But then, barely a week later, a raven arrived from Samwell Tarly, his most beloved friend from the Night's Watch. The message contained news that Dragonstone, the island on which Daenerys and Tyrion currently resided, sat on a mountain of Dragonglass…the only material he knew of that could kill a White Walker. And so Jon was left with no choice.

'I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone,' Jon said later that day in front of the Northern Lords and Ladies assembled in the Great Hall, and he held out Tyrion's scroll. 'It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister.'

There was a loud murmur of disapproval from the assembled lords, but nevertheless, Jon continued.

'He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen,' he said loudly, and silence fell. 'She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and, if this message is to be believed…three dragons.'

The lords immediately began to speak amongst themselves, appalled and concerned at the ridiculous statement. Jon swallowed, but concealed his nerves well.

'Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys,' Jon went on, turning to face Sansa at the high table. 'And I'm going to accept.'

At this, there was a large negative outcry from the lords gathered in the hall. Sansa looked aghast, but Jon, whose eyes had lowered briefly to the floor in shame, spoke up again before he was met with further cries and shouts of protest.

'We need this Dragonglass, my Lords,' Jon said firmly, his voice ringing out loudly across the Great Hall. 'We know that Dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies. The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragon-fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us. Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone.'

'Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?' Sansa demanded, to Jon's chagrin. 'The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive.'

Jon looked down as the assembled lords jeered in agreement with her. 'I know that,' he mumbled, wondering if his sister was right, if he were being stupid for considering the possibility that this legendary Daenerys Targaryen could be on their side.

'She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those seven kingdoms. This isn't an invitation, it's a trap!' Sansa said urgently, her face creased with worry.

'It could be,' Jon admitted heavily, 'but I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You know him – he's a good man.'

With a scrape of a chair, Yohn Royce then stood up with a grimace. 'Your Grace, with respect, I must agree with Lady Sansa,' he called out, almost apologetically. 'I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen _cannot_ be trusted. Nor can a Lannister.'

As the lords shouted in agreement, Robett Glover then also rose to his feet. 'We called your brother 'King', and then he rode south and lost his kingdom,' he pointed out.

His words were a low blow to Jon; they pierced him like a knife to the heart. He was so dismayed to see his lords and family protesting his plan, when he knew it was no good; whatever they said would make no difference. He did not want to leave on bad terms with his people, but leave he must. Sam's message was a clear sign of that. For the good of the Seven Kingdoms, he had to go to Dragonstone.

'Winter is _here_, Your Grace,' young Lyanna Mormont then interjected, standing to her feet as well. 'We need the King in the North _in_ the North.'

The lords began to pound the tables aggressively in agreement, leaving Jon feeling beaten and defeated. The title he had been given didn't necessarily mean he would be popular, but it would have been nice if the people of Winterfell had faith in him and provided full support in his mission. Alas, it was not to be.

He turned sombrely to the crowd. 'You all crowned me your king. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds,' Jon said, and his expression was that of despair. 'But the odds are against us. None of you have seen the Army of the Dead, none of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies – powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But I have to take it.'

'Then send an emissary, don't go yourself!' Sansa protested, getting to her feet.

'Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us,' Jon said firmly, and Sansa rolled her eyes at the respect he was giving to the supposed Targaryen enemy. 'It has to be me.'

He was met with more protests, but Jon was stubborn and his word was final on the matter. He would not dishonour Daenerys by sending any kind of representative on his behalf, even if there was uniform opposition from his loyalists. He kept having to tell himself that she and he were more or less equals, and so he had to act accordingly. It would be an insult if he didn't meet her directly himself…even if he didn't want to.

The next day, once Jon had set his affairs in order and left Sansa in charge of Winterfell, he and Ser Davos departed for White Harbor. Jon had no idea that when he'd next return to his home in the North, he would be a completely changed man.

* * *

The journey to Dragonstone took approximately a month, during which time Jon made the most of the peaceful, secluded ship cabins and ocean views, and tried not to dwell on the upcoming meeting with the feared Daenerys Targaryen. Being at sea for all that time meant that Jon was unable to do much in terms of his duties as King in the North other than simply wait until he arrived at his destination; he found it incredibly frustrating, but also somewhat of a relief. He could finally relax, just for a little while, and shut himself off from the troubles of the outside world. At least, he could try – it didn't really work. Jon always worried.

So, as a distraction, he and Ser Davos spent many days aboard the ship simply getting to know one another properly. They found out about each others' colourful pasts and fascinating backgrounds, and emerged from their deep discussions as kindred spirits. Davos also liked to speculate as to what Daenerys Targaryen would be like; if she was mad or ruthless like her father, how old she was, what she looked like, whether or not she would be true to her word, whether she would burn them alive with her dragons the moment they stepped foot on the island. Jon tried not to listen whenever their conversations took this turn. He felt intimidated and small enough as it was.

Jon felt strangely confident on the day they finally arrived at Dragonstone; perhaps he had been cooped up inside too long, and was now ready to get this over and done with. He felt full of purpose, and driven to get the Dragonglass (and, ideally, the help of three dragons as well) that they needed to win this war against the Army of the Dead. Jon and Davos, accompanied by six armed Stark soldiers, travelled by a small skiff towards Dragonstone's shore. As the men rowed on, Davos swallowed uncomfortably, staring at the grim and foreboding castle that awaited them; he had spent years living in that miserable fortress, and had hoped never to return. Jon couldn't help staring up at the castle too, and as they neared the island, he found himself wondering whether they had made a terrible mistake in coming here. His short burst of confidence had already disappeared.

They soon landed on the beach; Jon and his men dragged the boat onto shore and off the sand as waves crashed violently onto the rocks surrounding them. A large band of fearsome foreign warriors were stood there on the beach, waiting for them – Jon knew that these must be the Dothraki guards. They were a foreboding sight, but Jon's spirits were lifted slightly when he saw the small, figure of Tyrion Lannister also waiting, with a young woman stood beside him; both were dressed in smart black attire. Tyrion had more scars and facial hair than when they had last seen each other, but otherwise, he looked exactly the same. Jon had never been more grateful to see a familiar face.

'The bastard of Winterfell,' Tyrion greeted.

The Stark men glanced at Jon; had this man really just insulted their king?

'The dwarf of Casterly Rock,' Jon retorted.

Jon and Tyrion both stared at each other for a moment, then broke into a smile. They stepped forwards and shook hands.

'I believe we last saw each other on top of the Wall,' Tyrion said conversationally.

'You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right,' Jon said, and Tyrion nodded his head in agreement, chuckling to himself. 'You picked up some scars along the road.'

'It's been a long road,' Tyrion said gravely. 'But we're both still here.'

Tyrion then introduced himself to Davos, before gesturing to the young, rather attractive woman beside him.

'Missandei is the queen's most trusted advisor,' Tyrion said.

The woman, Missandei, smiled and stepped forward to address the two visitors. 'Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey – she appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf,' she said, and Jon nodded, although he was doubtful whether Daenerys Targaryen had ever mentioned this appreciation herself. 'If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons?'

There was an awkward pause; Jon exchanged a look with Davos, before glancing tentatively back at his soldiers. He could practically hear Sansa shouting at him now for being stupid enough to walk into a trap so easily.

Jon turned back to Missandei and forced a smile. 'Of course,' he said, and Tyrion flashed him a grateful smile for not making this difficult.

The Dothraki guards instantly moved forward to take their weapons. Jon unwillingly untied his sword and handed it over. He wondered whether he would be able to see it again. It alarmed him when he heard and saw the Dothraki then pick up his boat and begin to carry it away – evidently, Daenerys was suspicious and not taking any chances with her unknown 'guests' – but there was no time for him to protest, for Missandei was already beckoning them forward.

'Please, this way,' she said welcomingly.

They followed Missandei along the gloomy, damp sand, and as they walked Jon looked up to the vast castle, rising sharply from the rocks above. He sighed; there was no turning back now. They approached a set of massive open iron gates, which were flanked by the feet of a carved stone dragon, tremendous in scale. The rusted gates creaked in the wind as they all walked through and began the long climb up the steps leading to the castle.

As they made their way steadily up the narrow stone pathway built into the cliffs, Tyrion began speaking to Jon, enquiring as to Sansa's welfare.

'At some point I want to hear how a Night's Watch recruit became King in the North,' Tyrion was saying as they neared the castle.

'As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen,' Jon replied.

Tyrion seemed amused. 'A long and bloody tale. To be honest, I was drunk for most of it.'

Jon looked back down the path uneasily; two Dothraki guards were following them. He wondered what they had done with his boat. Would he ever get it back? Or was he trapped here?

'My bannermen think I'm a fool for coming here,' Jon said in a low voice, almost ashamed to be admitting his doubts…but for some reason, he felt he could talk openly to Tyrion about them.

'Of course they do. If I was your Hand I would have advised against it,' Tyrion said, which was hardly reassuring for Jon. 'General rule of thumb – Stark men don't fare well when they travel south.'

'True. But I'm not a Stark,' Jon replied, his lips twitching.

Tyrion smiled. _Touché. _

A loud roar was then heard from overhead. Startled, Jon and Davos immediately dove to the ground as none other than a humungous dragon flew up from under the balustrade, screaming as it went. Clutching the ground, alarmed, Jon looked up and watched in disbelief as the dragon flew off towards the castle, beating its wings heavily. Jon was breathing deeply, his heart racing. He couldn't believe what had just happened…what he had just seen with his own eyes. Could that thing be real? Neither Tyrion or Missandei had bothered ducking; they both simply stood there, smirking at the two astonished men. As Jon slowly recovered from the shock, an amused Tyrion walked over and offered Jon his hand.

'I'd say you get used to them,' Tyrion said, as he helped Jon up to his feet. 'But you never really do.'

Mouth open, Jon was staring wide-eyed up at the castle, half-mesmerized, half-terrified, as two more dragons joined the first and began weaving lazy patterns in the air, circling above the castle and crying out to each other. They were extraordinary.

'Come,' Tyrion said promptly, as he walked on up the steps. 'Their mother is waiting for you.'

Astonished, Jon tore his eyes away from the impressive sight in the sky and exchanged a horrified glance with Davos. It was too late to turn back now.

_Fuck_, Jon thought to himself.

He marched on after Tyrion and Missandei, hoping desperately that his breathing and heart rate would calm down by the time they reached the entrance to the castle. The dragons continued to circle the castle and sing to each other for the rest of their journey up the path, although once they arrived at the castle entrance, Jon found himself inexplicably smiling to himself; he couldn't imagine any situation in which those dragons would be deterred by a few White Walkers. Terrifying though they were, these magnificent creatures could end up being the key to their survival. _If_ Jon played his cards right with Queen Daenerys.

Once inside, Jon barely had time to look around or appreciate the splendour of the castles' gloomy, intimidating interior, for Tyrion and Missandei led him and Davos straight towards the audience chamber, where the Queen was apparently already assembled with more of her guards.

Davos glanced at Jon uneasily but could tell from his anxious expression that Jon would prefer to remain silent, particularly when he felt so uncomfortable. He had been left rather shaken after encountering that dragon; suddenly he had forgotten what little logical reasons he'd had that had convinced him to come here. As King in the North, Jon had not experienced many audiences, particularly not with anyone of this sort of status. Daenerys had been in power for years, whereas he was still figuring out how his new role in the world worked. It had all the makings of a disaster. Although hopefully not too much of a humiliating one, on his part.

Jon's fingers began to twitch agitatedly. 'Any advice?' he asked Tyrion apprehensively, as they approached the grand set of doors.

'Be yourself. Be truthful. And be prepared,' Tyrion said, a certain twinkle in his eye. 'She really is quite something.'

Grimacing over at Davos, Jon began to dust himself off anxiously; he wished he hadn't dived to the ground like a scared little boy earlier when that dragon had appeared. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be so hard on himself. After all, it had been a fucking _dragon_.

The Dothraki guards then walked ahead and pushed open the heavy doors; Tyrion and Missandei followed them in to join their queen. Suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity, Jon Snow then took a deep breath and stepped forward into the audience chamber.


	2. An Audience with Queen Daenerys

**Based on events during Episode 3 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Jon was so spellbound by the architecture of the imposing room he had entered that he didn't even notice Queen Daenerys watching him impassively from her throne. The assembly chamber was similar to the dark, cave-like features of the corridors from which they had entered, but so much grander…and so magnificent. The walls of the majestic hall matched the fascinating rocky formations of the island outside, and rays of sunlight shone through the stained glass windows. Dothraki blood riders stood guard, but not at attention like Westerosi knights; the Dothraki were far more relaxed…but just as deadly. Unlike the audience chamber in Winterfell, this room was in no way welcoming. It made Jon feel uneasy, and he could sense from Davos's tense body language that he felt just as uncomfortable.

Daenerys stayed sat in the throne that Aegon Targaryen had once sat in centuries ago, watching the newcomers enter with no sign of emotion. She had been somewhat dreading this meeting today, and so it came as a relief to find that she was rather underwhelmed by the sight of the two men who had entered her castle. In fact, at first glance she couldn't even tell which one was meant to be the supposed 'King in the North'. But then she noticed that the considerably older man, who appeared winded from the long climb, was walking a few steps behind the first with his hands behind his back, and did not wear armour, unlike his companion. Daenerys quickly ran her eyes appraisingly over the first man; despite being sat so far away from him, she could tell that he was quite young. He was too preoccupied looking around at the impressive hall to realise that she was studying his every move and flicker in his expression as he approached.

The assembly chamber alone intimidated Jon, but this was nothing compared to how he felt when his eyes finally set upon the woman sat before him at the end of the chamber. Jon came to a halt, his eyes widening. Dressed in regal, charcoal black robes that complemented her slender frame, Daenerys Targaryen sat on a grand throne that seemed to have been carved into a formation of jagged grey rocks. It looked spectacular. Most importantly, it looked powerful. But it was not the elaborate throne that caught Jon off guard; it was her beauty. Even from such a distance, Daenerys' stunning face stood out to him…as did her long pale silver-gold hair, partly braided elegantly at the back, with the rest cascading down her shoulders in delicate waves. And she was so _young_. For some reason, Jon had not been prepared to come face to face with a queen of his age. He had imagined – or rather, hoped – that she would have been much older. As their eyes met for the first time, Jon felt his lips part and he couldn't help but stare at her. He'd had no idea she would look like that. The mere vision of her was breathtaking.

He blinked rapidly when Missandei began to address them from Daenerys' end of the chamber; he had almost forgotten everyone else's presence, and even the purpose to this visit.

'You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,' Missandei said, her voice ringing out proudly around the chamber as Daenerys held her head high. 'Rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.'

Silence fell. Slightly daunted, Jon turned and glanced at Davos; neither of them had been prepared for such a lavish introduction, and it unnerved Jon slightly. He gave Davos a pointed look.

Davos turned to address Daenerys. 'This is Jon Snow,' he said, and he gave a brief nod.

There was an awkward pause. Jon turned warily back to look up Daenerys, trying to see if he could read her expression from this distance. Daenerys fought a smile as she slowly lowered her head, her eyebrows raised slightly in amusement as she waited for Jon Snow's advisor to realise that he had missed out something important. Jon's eyes widened, embarrassed.

Realising his mistake, Davos then added hastily; 'He's King in the North.'

Jon noticed Tyrion smirking to himself in the corner, and he couldn't help wondering if Tyrion agreed with Jon's own initial thoughts regarding the ridiculousness of those numerous grand names and titles that Missandei had recited as a quite obvious intimidation tactic. Although Jon did not have much detailed insight into what this young woman had gone through or achieved, all that preposterously grand introduction of hers told him was that Daenerys was a privileged girl in a ridiculous big chair and elaborate dress whose fancy name and titles were the only things she held dear.

Daenerys was equally unimpressed by her guest. He wasn't as tall or large as she had expected, nor as old – in fact, he seemed to be around her age. There was nothing remotely special or fierce or regal about his attire; she certainly would never have guessed him to be a proclaimed 'king'. Then again, appearances could often be deceiving.

'Thank you for traveling so far, My Lord,' Daenerys said, watching him with intrigue, and her thumb twitched with nerves slightly, though she kept it well hidden in her voice and expression.

Jon swallowed slightly as her pleasant voice echoed around the hall. She spoke so well…so clearly, so articulate. His informal accent would no doubt sound like a joke to her.

'I hope the seas weren't too rough,' Daenerys went on politely.

Jon nodded. 'The winds were kind, Your Grace,' he replied, and he smiled at her; a warm gesture that Daenerys had not expected.

'Apologies,' Davos interjected, looking uncomfortable. 'I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know. But Jon Snow is _King_ in the North, Your Grace. He's not a lord.'

Jon lowered his eyes away from Daenerys. He had barely noticed how she had just addressed him – not that he cared that much. He was still yet to get used to this 'King in the North' business. He wondered if she had meant to disrespect him by calling him 'My Lord', to show exactly what she thought of him. Her soft expression would suggest otherwise. The throne and assembly chamber that she had chosen to greet him with, however…well, they left rather a different impression on Jon.

Daenerys frowned slightly. 'Forgive me…'

'Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth,' Tyrion interjected.

'Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education. But I could have sworn I read the last King in the North was Torren Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen. Torren Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. But do I have my facts wrong?' Daenerys said coolly.

Jon kept his eyes lowered. She was smart and calculated, that was certainly clear. He so dearly wanted to reply to her history lesson with the correction that his brother, Robb Stark, had in fact been the last King in the North, but to do that would risk causing offence. And he could not do that with such a valuable potential ally.

'I wasn't there, My Grace,' Davos said, after a hesitation.

A brief smile appeared on Daenerys' face, although it appeared somewhat forced. 'No. Of course not,' she said, and then her expression turned serious. 'But still. An oath is an oath. 'In perpetuity' means - what _does_ 'perpetuity' mean, Lord Tyrion?'

'Forever,' Tyrion replied.

Daenerys nodded smugly as she turned back to face her guests. 'Forever,' she repeated, an unkind smile flickering momentarily on her face, and Jon looked down and sighed heavily. 'So I assume, My Lord, you're here to bend the knee.'

There it was again. '_My Lord'_. A deliberate move on her part. And one that started off their audience with her in a dominant position. No one who had ever met her could deny that she had all the actions and talk of a queen. Daenerys tilted her head at him expectantly.

Eventually, Jon looked up at her. 'I am not,' he said firmly, a hint of a smile on his face as he watched her expression falter.

Daenerys was stunned. She had expected this man to treat her with the respect she was due. After all, what other purpose would he have for his visit? The elaborate displays of grandeur that had met him since his arrival here on Dragonstone mustn't have made any kind of impression on him at all. How disappointing.

Daenerys swallowed slightly, perturbed and a little thrown by his blunt response. 'Oh,' she said, forcing her polite smile to stay fixed on her face as she tried to recover herself; she raised her eyebrows cynically at him. 'Well, that is unfortunate. You've travelled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?'

She suddenly found herself feeling a little worried, an emotion she had not felt in quite some time. If not to swear his fealty to her, then had Jon Snow come here to try and overthrow her? To declare that she was not a queen? She did not know who he really was, or what he had been through, or what he believed. All she could see was a man trying to carve up a piece of her kingdom for himself.

Jon laughed softly to himself briefly. 'Break faith? Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive,' he pointed out in his unfamiliar, Northern accent, his expression cold. 'He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms-'

'My father…was an evil man,' Daenerys interrupted, tearing her eyes off Jon's incredulous face and looking down at her lap as she felt the shame wash over her.

Jon faltered, and his expression softened ever so slightly. He had not been expecting that.

Daenerys raised her eyes to him again. 'On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family,' she said sincerely. 'And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father.'

Surprised by her apology, Jon glanced at Tyrion. A small smile appeared on Tyrion's face, and it was then when Jon realised that perhaps his first impression of Daenerys was not that accurate. He turned back to face her, giving her his full attention.

'Our two houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity, with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North,' Daenerys went on, her tone almost tantalising. 'I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow. Honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I _will_ name you Warden of the North. Together, we will save this country from those who would destroy it.'

She certainly had extraordinary pride, and her speech was enticing; full of hope, even. Jon would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted by her proposal. In the silence, Jon took his time to look around the vast chamber, aware of Daenerys watching him attentively. She knew there was no way he could refuse her appealing offer; he would be a fool if he did.

Jon eventually returned his gaze to her. 'You're right,' he said to Daenerys, who instantly looked pleased at his answer. 'You're not guilty of your father's crimes. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows.'

Daenerys' smile gradually faded during his last sentence, resting at last on a stony expression that rendered Jon almost afraid of her. She was infuriated – she had never come across someone like this before. Why was he so determined to fight against her? It was bizarre. It was enraging. And yet some small part of her liked the fact that he was so strong-willed, and it stunned her.

'Then why are you here?' Daenerys asked in a low, unimpressed voice, her nostrils flaring slightly as she glared at him.

Jon hesitated for a moment; he didn't like that he had angered her. 'Because I need your help,' he said heavily, 'and you need mine.'

Daenerys smirked, amused, and she exchanged a sceptical glance with Tyrion before turning back to address Jon. 'Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?' she asked him dryly.

Jon looked down, knowing where she was going with this. 'I did.'

'And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?' she went on.

Jon raised his eyebrows. 'They're hard to miss,' he pointed out; he gave her a small, amused smile, which she did not return – clearly, any attempt at humour was not to be tolerated during this tense discussion.

'But still, _I_ need your help?' Daenerys said sceptically, her tone and expression almost robotic; part of her wanted to throw this time-waster out of her castle already.

'Not to defeat Cersei,' Davos explained. 'You could storm King's Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, _we_ almost took it and we didn't even _have_ dragons.'

'Almost,' Tyrion muttered.

'But you haven't stormed King's Landing. Why not?' Jon asked, looking back and forth between Daenerys and Tyrion.

There was a pause.

'The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people,' Jon said, as Daenerys watched him carefully; perhaps he wasn't as unintelligent as he looked. 'It's the fastest way to win the war but you won't do it. Which means…at the very _least_…you're better than Cersei.'

Daenerys raised her eyebrows at him. That was undoubtedly high praise, especially coming from someone who was disrespecting her in every other way and refusing to cooperate with her.

'Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help,' she insisted.

Jon lowered his eyes slightly. He knew what he was about to tell them was going to sound preposterous, and it wasn't going to be easy convincing this stubborn woman sat before him. She clearly did not like him now that he had made it clear he was not going to pledge his fealty. What hope did he have of gaining her support for his mission now? Nevertheless, he had to try.

'Because right now you and I and Cersei and everyone else…we're children playing at a game screaming that the rules aren't fair,' Jon said, and he was alarmed by the flicker of irritation that crossed Daenerys' face at his words

Daenerys had rolled her eyes and was plainly refusing to look at Jon now. 'You told me you liked this man,' she said, inclining her head towards Tyrion.

'I do,' Tyrion replied shortly.

'In the time since he's met me, he's _refused_ to call me queen, he's _refused_ to bow and now he's calling me a child,' Daenerys said sharply, turning to glare yet again at Jon, who looked down awkwardly.

'I believe he's calling all of us children,' Tyrion corrected her defensively. 'Figure of speech.'

Daenerys' arrogance and driven sense of entitlement were infuriating Jon. The way she was moaning to Tyrion, she might as well be a child in the literal sense of the word.

'Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north,' Jon said impatiently; Tyrion frowned in frustration at Jon's impolite tone.

'As far as _I_ can see, _you_ are the enemy to the north,' Daenerys said, to Jon's chagrin.

'I am _not_ your enemy,' Jon said firmly, and he hesitated. 'The dead are the enemy.'

Daenerys paused and stared at him, incredulous. 'The dead?' she said in a low, sceptical voice, and she turned to Tyrion again. 'Is that another figure of speech?'

Jon answered her before Tyrion even had a chance to open his mouth. 'The Army of the Dead is on the march.'

'The Army of the Dead?' Tyrion repeated cynically, frowning.

Jon sighed, realising how it sounded. 'You don't know me well, My Lord, but do you think I am a…liar or a madman?'

'No, I…don't think you're either of those things,' Tyrion replied truthfully.

'The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them,' Jon said, his voice ringing out louder than before in his urgency.

Daenerys exhaled deeply, not wanting to hear his words. She had heard tales of the White Walkers when she had been a little girl. She had repressed those stories for good reason.

'If they get past the Wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves-' Jon took a few steps forward towards the throne, but the Dothraki guards immediately stepped closer to him, forcing him to halt; he gazed helplessly up at Daenerys. '-We're finished.'

Another silence fell. Daenerys considered him for a few moments, unable to take her eyes off him. His expression was earnest, his tone insistent. He certainly believed that he was telling the truth. But he angered her by presuming he could talk to her in this way. Who even was this man? As far as she knew, he was merely an unwashed barbarian from the North who had proclaimed himself King. What right did he have to tell her how she should act? She had a war to fight and an Iron Throne to claim, and if he was refusing to pledge fealty to her then why was he talking as if she was duty-bound to help him in his horror fantasy?

'I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it,' Daenerys said, rising from from her throne, and she ever so slowly began to walk down the stone steps towards Jon. 'We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course.'

Jon watched apprehensively as she approached him; he could see her knuckles grinding as she held both her hands together. Her tone was calm, albeit a little irate, and collected, but her expression betrayed that she was incensed.

'I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names,' Daenerys went on, her fury and determination growing with every step she took closer to Jon. 'I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed. Raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile?'

Jon simply stared at her, shaken by her words. He had no response for her, although she never expected him to. He had no idea who she was. No idea.

'Faith,' Daenerys answered firmly, her voice almost shaking with rage. 'Not in any gods. _Not_ in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.'

Jon tilted his head as he drank in the sight of her, listening to her in awe. Already, she was unlike any woman – no, any _person_ – he had ever met. As he watched her now, he realised that she was wearing the colours of House Targaryen; a fur-lined black coat and a dark red scaled sash hanging from it, on which there was a silver chain fixed on with the ornament of a three-headed dragon – the Targaryen sigil. She took his breath away.

'The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea,' Daenerys continued, and she stopped walking merely a metre from him, finally face to face with Jon…finally close enough to look into his eyes properly. 'They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.'

Jon felt the urge to nod and bow at her feet once she had finished speaking. Her determination and fierceness was enough to win him over, let alone her mesmerising appearance. But, although he was not practiced in the field of politics, he was a realist. He knew what they were facing. And he also knew that Daenerys' dreams would never come true unless she saw the light and believed him.

'You'll be ruling over a graveyard,' Jon said heavily, 'if we don't defeat the Night King.'

Daenerys' expression hardened. He was not unpleasant to look at, particularly close to; dressed in dark leather armour, depicted with the House Stark sigil of a wolf, he appeared to have a strong build and he had dark shoulder-length hair, where some of the unruly curls had been tied back to free his handsome face. The subtle beard and moustache were not enough to obscure his chiselled jawline or the perfectly symmetrical, masculine features that lay beneath. It was Jon's eyes that struck Daenerys the most; they were large, brooding, dark brown eyes…the kind of eyes that would betray a world of emotions.

Despite the large surroundings of the audience chamber and their advisors, it felt strangely intimate as the two hostile strangers stared irritably at each other. It was only when Tyrion approached them that they were both reminded that there were others involved in their conversation.

'The war against my sister has already begun,' Tyrion said exasperatedly, standing at Daenerys' side. 'You can't expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting…whatever you saw beyond the Wall.'

Davos took a step forward to Daenerys and Tyrion. 'You don't believe him. I understand that. It sounds like nonsense,' he began, and Jon lowered his eyes before slowly raising them to gaze at Daenerys; she raised her head up slightly, nostrils flaring in irritation and yet unable to take her eyes off him. 'But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North.'

There was a strange sort of friction in the look that passed between Jon and Daenerys while Davos spoke. A spark of something. Something that unnerved them both. Although uncomfortable and intimidated as Davos continued to endorse him, Jon couldn't help feeling that he was trying to suppress something else as he gazed tentatively into Daenerys' bewitching eyes, angry and sceptical though they were in this moment. She was so stunningly beautiful. It made it hard for him to think.

'You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros. He was the first to make allies with Wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of his birthright, he has no birthright – he's a damn bastard,' Davos went on, and Jon looked down, not wanting to see the judgement in Daenerys' expression. 'All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him.'

Daenerys was gazing intensely at Jon now as she took in Davos's words, half-beguiled, half-infuriated. A part of her admired Jon's stubbornness and the fact that, unlike so many others, he was not pandering to her. And he sounded like a good man, from what Davos was saying. It also helped that he was visually enjoyable to look at. But he was trying to take over. He was trying to disrupt everything she had been working towards, and believed himself to be a better ruler than she. And Daenerys could not have that.

'All those things you don't believe in – he faced those things,' Davos continued, trying not to be put off by the fraught intense staring between the king and queen. 'He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own li-'

But Jon cut Davos off with a turn of his head. Davos faltered and stopped talking; he could see from the warning look in Jon's eyes that he did not want that story told. Not to these people. Not ever. In the awkward pause that followed, Daenerys and Tyrion exchanged a suspicious glance.

_What was that all about?_

Davis then proceeded to finish his speech, as if there had been no interruption in his flow. 'If we don't put aside our enmities and band together, we will die,' he said simply. 'And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne.'

'If it doesn't matter you might as well kneel,' Tyrion pointed out, gazing up at Jon imploringly; Daenerys watched in torment and frustration as Jon shook his head with a wry smile on his face. 'Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys. Help her to defeat my sister and together our armies will protect the North.'

'There's no time for that,' Jon snapped, finally losing his patience, and his voice grew louder as he turned to glare in frustration at Daenerys. 'There's no time for any of this! While we stand here debating-!'

'It takes no time to bend the knee,' Tyrion interrupted, and Jon exhaled deeply, trying to calm himself as Daenerys continued to stare into his eyes. 'Pledge your sword to her cause.'

'And why would I do that?' Jon demanded incredulously, rounding on Tyrion.

Daenerys felt her fingers twitch as Tyrion was left speechless. She was aghast. She had thought that today would go quite swimmingly, that she would secure an ally and have him bend the knee, that he would be impressed by her; awestruck, even. But no. He didn't see her as a queen or as anything remotely important. He saw her as nothing. No man wanting to make an alliance with her – either as a politician or a lover – had ever spoken to or about her like that before. She had certainly not been expecting this Jon Snow to be argumentative. Daenerys tried to hide how insulted she was by Jon's attitude as he turned directly to speak to her, but she couldn't conceal her feelings very well.

Jon frowned at her. 'I mean no offense, Your Grace, but I don't know you,' he said, while Daenerys leered at him, her eyebrows set in what seemed to be a permanent scowl. 'As far as I can tell, your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name, and my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King.'

Daenerys simply stared at him. She was lost for words…not that any of her words yet had made any sort of impact on him, anyway. Usually, she was quite good at knowing what to say…her speeches had often inspired or intimidated many, causing them to either threaten or submit to her. But Jon Snow was different; he had done neither. And Daenerys found this intriguing.

Jon exhaled deeply. 'The lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them. And I will continue to do so as well as I can,' he said, lowering his voice.

Daenerys' full, rosy lips were almost pursed as she continued to glare at him; Jon found it hard not to look at them. 'That's fair,' she said reasonably, raising her eyebrows at him. 'It's also fair to point out that I'm the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring yourself king of the northern most kingdom, you are in open rebellion.'

Jon stared back at her in frustration. He so dearly wanted to retort something like, 'the difference between us is that I didn't declare myself king', but he felt like he had insulted her pride enough for today. Why did she have to make this so difficult? If she put aside her own self-entitlement and focussed on the good of the Seven Kingdoms' safety rather than who sat on that stupid Iron Throne, then they could have a chance at stopping the Army of the Dead. But her stubbornness was going to cost them everything.

Daenerys opened her mouth to speak again, but they were then interrupted by the front doors of the assembly chamber opening as a bald robed man entered and hurried over to Daenerys' side. He whispered something in her ear, and then stepped back. Daenerys lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment, to gather herself. From the brief flicker in her expression, it wasn't good news.

She then looked up to address Jon and Davos. 'You must forgive my manners. You will both be tired after your long journey,' she said. 'We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms.'

With a disgruntled look at Jon, she then turned to one of the Dothraki guards, and began to speak in a different language. He wished he knew what she was saying to him; he cast an anxious glance at Tyrion, who looked equally as troubled – apparently, he could not predict what his queen was going to do with her guests. Daenerys then turned her back on Jon and began walking away as the Dothraki guard approached Jon and Davos.

'Am I your prisoner?' Jon asked; his matter-of-fact tone made Daenerys halt on her way up the steps.

After a small hesitation, Daenerys turned and fixed him with a hard look. 'Not yet,' she replied.

Jon glanced apprehensively at the Dothraki guard, who then escorted him and Davos out of the audience chamber. Daenerys felt herself shudder slightly as the chamber doors were firmly closed.

* * *

'Your Grace, can I get you anything?'

Daenerys looked up from the painted table; she had been lost in thought, staring at the map emptily and only seeing Jon Snow's imploring eyes. Missandei was stood in the doorway to the map room, looking to her queen in concern.

'No. But thank you,' Daenerys replied, and she turned glumly to the map again. 'Have you heard the news?'

'Lord Varys did mention to me…that the Ironborn and Dornish were attacked,' Missandei said softly. 'I'm so sorry, Your Grace.'

'We will determine another course of action. But it's still…not what I needed to hear,' Daenerys said, sighing heavily. 'Today's been trying enough.'

'You're referring to our new guests.' It wasn't a question.

'I have no problem with Ser Davos, he seems perfectly reasonable enough. It is Jon Snow himself I cannot stand,' Daenerys said irritably, and she looked up sharply at Missandei. 'What did you think of him?'

Missandei looked rather taken aback. 'I…it isn't my role to…form opinions on-'

'It is your role to advise me, and I need advice on how to deal with this idiotic man. What did you think of him?' Daenerys asked commandingly.

Missandei hesitated, an awkward expression on her face. 'He seemed…very passionate. About protecting his people. Like he would do anything to save them from harm,' she said truthfully, and Daenerys looked down in disappointment; she had been hoping that Missandei would share her sceptical views. 'Even if…the harm he spoke of…this Army of the Dead…seems unlikely to be real.'

'Perhaps it is all some terrible joke Tyrion has devised to distract me from his poor military schemes that led to the destruction of my fleet,' Daenerys muttered.

Missandei raised her eyebrows. 'He would not dare do that, Your Grace.'

'Yes, that's very true,' Daenerys said, and she sat down on her chair at the far end of the table; she looked drained. 'I do not want to be hostile with Lord Snow but he has made it very…difficult.'

'He seems loyal to his people and his beliefs. Perhaps he thinks it would be unwise to rush into pledging his fealty to someone he doesn't yet know,' Missandei suggested.

Daenerys looked up at her. She hated it when Missandei was more reasonable than her, but she also valued it. She had learnt recently that she needed Missandei to reinforce the other perspective from time to time. Otherwise Daenerys would remain too self-consumed in her own thoughts and goals, and would often be blinded by it. She sometimes loathed that she had become that sort of person.

'Do you know if they have everything they need?' Daenerys asked. 'Jon Snow and Ser Davos?'

'They seem very pleased with their accommodation, Your Grace,' Missandei replied, smiling. 'Well…'surprised' would be a more accurate word.'

Daenerys chuckled softly. 'Did they think I was going to chain them up in cells?'

There was an awkward silence; Missandei's grimace was answer enough. Daenerys' face fell.

'They must think me some sort of monster,' she said, dazed.

Missandei took a few steps forward. 'The more time they spend with you, the more they will…know you. The real you,' she said earnestly.

Daenerys looked sceptical. 'The real me. And who is that? I'm not sure I know anymore,' she said quietly, a sad smile on her face. 'In all honesty, I hope they will not be around on Dragonstone long enough to spend any valuable time with me. If Jon Snow refuses to bend the knee, then I see no reason in allowing him to stay here beyond tonight.'

Missandei frowned, troubled. 'Perhaps it would be worth talking to him again tomorrow, once you have both rested,' she said gently.

'Hmm. Perhaps,' Daenerys said reluctantly. 'If I can stomach it.'

'Will that be all, Your Grace?'

Daenerys forced a smile at her handmaiden. 'Yes. Thank you, Missandei.'

Missandei shut the door to the map room behind her as she left; the moment she had left, Daenerys clutched her hands to her head, resting on the table. The capture (or, most likely, death) of the majority of her fleet was a terrible blow, and this Jon Snow business was only adding even more hardship to her already-troubled mind.

She had felt almost belittled by his words back in the audience chamber; it was a feeling she had not been used to for quite some time. Lord Snow – she refused to call him 'King' – had shown some seriously bad diplomatic skills, and it had been completely unreasonable of him to demand that she abandon everything she had been working towards to fight a mythical enemy that she had neither seen nor believed in. Then again, it had also been unreasonable of Daenerys herself to expect him to magically fall in line by simply throwing her titles and family name in his face. There was work to be done if they were ever to reach a compromise or part ways as allies, that alone was clear. They needed to earn each other's trust and respect…if such a thing were possible. She highly doubted it.

Daenerys did not like Jon Snow. But she didn't dislike him either. There was something about him…something different. Something that made her want to truly know him. But only time would tell whether that would ever come to fruition.


	3. The Quest For Dragonglass

**Based on events during Episode 3 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

When dawn broke the next day, Jon had already been awake for quite a while. He'd had a troubled nights' sleep, his dreams filled with dragons and White Walkers and Daenerys Targaryen, glaring at him with hatred in her startlingly blue eyes. Nevertheless, he knew that Daenerys could not hate him as much in reality as his dreams had depicted; if she did, then she certainly would not have provided him and Davos with such generous lodgings. Despite the gloomy, depressing nature of the castle, the bed chamber in which Jon had tried to sleep last night had been most exquisite. Even the food and bath had been quite exceptional.

As the sun rose, Jon put on his armour and cloak, and ventured out of his room into the melancholy, cold corridors. He came across a few of Daenerys' Dothraki guards, but they simply nodded at him and allowed him to go on his way, just as Missandei had assured him yesterday evening. Jon was surprised that he was allowed to roam free, but grateful; after the disaster of yesterday's audience with Daenerys, it was the only positive thing out of his visit so far that he was able to explore the impressive grounds of Dragonstone, both inside the castle and out.

The moors surrounding the castle were incredibly vast, and windy. Jon trudged along the moors for a few hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of his ship somewhere around the island…but to no avail. He had no idea where Daenerys could have ordered her Queensguard to hide it. It was highly infuriating. He wanted to get off Dragonstone as soon as he could; there was no point in him and Davos staying here. Daenerys had made it very clear that she was not going to help him.

Jon stayed stood at the edge of the cliffs for quite a while, looking out miserably at the ocean and vast horizons beyond, when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned, expecting to see Davos, only it was Tyrion…looking extremely disheartened.

Tyrion came to a halt not far away from Jon as he, too, turned to look out over the ocean. 'I came out here to brood over my failure to predict the Greyjoy attack,' was Tyrion's greeting, and he glanced over at Jon. 'You're making it difficult. You look a lot better brooding than I do. You make me feel like I'm failing at brooding over failing.'

'I'm a prisoner on this island,' Jon said bluntly.

'I wouldn't say you're a _prisoner_ on this island,' Tyrion said. 'You're free to walk the castle, the beaches, to go wherever you want.'

'Except to my ship,' Jon retorted. 'You took my ship.'

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at him. 'I wouldn't say we took your ship-'

'I'm not playing word games with you,' Jon interrupted, exhausted of trying to argue his point. 'The dead are coming for us all.'

'Why don't you figure out what to do about my missing fleet and murdered allies, and I'll figure out what to do about your walking dead men?' Tyrion suggested sarcastically.

'It's hard for me to fathom, it really is. If someone told me about the White Walkers and the Night King…' Jon trailed off and hung his head, closing his eyes in frustration as he realised how ridiculous he was sounding. 'You probably don't believe me.'

Tyrion considered him for a moment. 'I do actually,' he admitted.

'You didn't before,' Jon reminded him. ''Grumpkins' and 'snarks' you called them. do you remember? You said it was all nonsense.'

Tyrion nodded. 'It _was_ nonsense. Everybody knew it. But then Mormont saw them and you saw them, and I trust the eyes of an honest man more than I trust what everybody knows,' he said, as he slowly walked up to Jon.

'How do I convince people who don't know me that an enemey they don't believe in is coming to kill them all?' Jon asked hopelessly.

They both knew that by 'people', he really meant 'Daenerys'. She was why he had come here. She was the most important thing right now. She and her dragons were the only option they had left.

'Good question.'

'I know it's a good question, I'm looking for an answer,' Jon said exasperatedly.

'People's minds aren't made for problems that large. White Walkers, the Night King…Army of the Dead…it's almost a relief to confront a comfortable, familiar monster like my sister,' Tyrion murmured.

'I need to help prepare my people for what's coming. I can't help them from here,' Jon said firmly, as the wind battered his cloak, and he turned to Tyrion. 'I'd like to leave.'

Tyrion shook his head in disappointment. 'It seems unlikely that you became King in the North by giving up that easily.'

'Everyone told me to learn from my father's mistakes – don't go south…don't answer a summons from the Mad King's daughter, a foreign invader. And here I am. A northern fool,' Jon said bitterly.

'Children are not their fathers…luckily for all of us. And sometimes there's more to foreign invaders and northern fools than meets the eye. Daenerys could have sailed for Westeros long ago but she didn't. Instead she stayed where she was and saved many people from horrible fates, some of whom are on this island with us right now,' Tyrion said, and Jon watched him carefully, hanging onto every word. 'While you're our guest here you might consider asking them what _they_ think of the Mad King's daughter. She protects people from monsters, just as you do. That's why she came here. And she's not about to head north to fight an enemy she's never seen on a word of a man she doesn't know, after a single meeting. That's not a reasonable thing to ask.'

Jon looked at him for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly, realising that he was right. Defeated, Jon then began to walk away.

'So do you have anything reasonable to ask?' Tyrion asked.

Jon stopped and turned back around to face him. 'What do you mean?'

'Maybe you are a northern fool,' Tyrion said dryly. 'I'm asking if there's something I can do to help you.'

Jon frowned, deep in thought. He knew what he had come here for. The question was, would Daenerys allow him to get it?

* * *

'_As far as I can tell your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name'… 'As far as I can tell your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name' … 'As far as I can tell your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name' …. _

Jon Snow's harsh words from yesterday kept ringing through Daenerys' mind as she tried to focus on the map and plans laid about before her in the chamber of the painted table. It had been a very frustrating morning, and even more so this afternoon. She and her council were simply not getting anywhere in working out the best strategy to recover after the Greyjoys' defeat. It didn't help matters that Lord Varys kept bringing up the one name Daenerys did _not_ want to hear throughout their discussions.

'So, you are quite sure you have not changed your mind about Jon Snow, Your Grace?' Varys asked hopefully. 'Lady Melisandre seemed quite insistent that he would prove most useful-'

'I will _not_ abandon my own war to go to battle with mythical beings who may not even exist, Lord Varys,' Daenerys snapped, and then she looked up to see Tyrion stood in the doorway. 'Yes, come in. Thank you, Varys.'

The room emptied so that Daenerys and Tyrion were alone in the map room. Daenerys wished she could relax, but even with Tyrion there her shoulders were tensed up. She was constantly anxious, constantly burdening herself with the woes of the world. Always playing the role she had been born to be, never quite knowing what was her true self.

'You have news?' she asked, barely looking up from the table.

'No. A request,' Tyrion said simply, and Daenerys looked up at him, her interest perked.

'A request?'

'Hmm. From Jon Snow.'

Daenerys raised her eyebrows at him. 'Oh, really? And he is too cowardly to make this request to me directly?'

'He only mentioned it to me in passing, I said I would simply relay the message as your Hand. And…he senses that you are not overly fond of his company,' Tyrion admitted; Daenerys avoided his disapproving gaze, embarrassed. 'He agreed that it would be best for me to speak to you.'

'Very well, what is this request of his?' she asked.

'Well, it is one of the main reasons why he travelled all the way here in the first place, as a matter of fact. It was brought to his attention a while ago that Dragonstone contains Dragonglass,' Tyrion explained, and Daenerys raised her eyebrows. 'He would like your permission to mine it from the caves on the island. I gather he and the northerners need it quite desperately.'

'Dragonglass,' Daenerys said blankly, unimpressed.

'Yes. Volcanic glass – obsidian,' Tyrion clarified, and Daenerys rolled her eyes. 'He says you have a tremendous amount of it here.'

'Why are we talking about glass?' Daenerys demanded, infuriated. 'We just lost two of our allies!'

'Which is why I was speaking to Jon Snow, a potential ally,' Tyrion said slowly, fixing her with a stern gaze.

Daenerys lowered her eyes awkwardly. She was being petty and childish, she knew that. But she couldn't help it; things had gone from bad to worse since Jon Snow had arrived at her home.

'And what does the King in the North want with Dragonglass?' she asked cynically.

'Apparently it can be turned into weapons that kill White Walkers and their foot soldiers,' Tyrion replied, but then he frowned. 'Or…stop them…destroy them…I'm unsure of the nomenclature.'

Daenerys rested her hand on her hip as she walked around the table towards him, exasperated. 'And what do _you_ think of this…Army of the Dead and…White Walkers and Night Kings?'

'I'd very much like to believe that Jon Snow is wrong,' Tyrion said, 'but a wise man once said that you should never believe a thing simply because you want to believe it.'

Daenerys eyed him suspiciously. 'Which wise man said this?'

Tyrion hesitated. 'I don't remember,' he said innocently.

'Are you trying to present your own statements as ancient wisdom?'

'I would never do that...to you,' Tyrion replied hastily. 'The reason I believe Jon Snow is because he's here. All of his advisors would have told him not to come. _I_ would have told him not to come, yet he's here anyway.'

Daenerys paused, her back turned so that Tyrion could not see her expression. She knew Tyrion was right. She didn't want him to be, but he was.

'You don't _have_ to believe him. Let him mine the Dragonglass. If he's wrong, it's worthless. You didn't even know it was here. It's nothing to you,' Tyrion pointed out. 'Give him something by giving him nothing. Take a step toward a more productive relationship with a possible ally. Keep him occupied while we focus on the task at hand – Casterly Rock.'

'What was that Ser Davos said?' Daenerys said thoughtfully, turning around to face Tyrion. 'About…taking a knife in the heart for his people. Did you notice that?'

It had been preying on her mind ever since she had witnessed that strange look exchanged between Jon and Ser Davos yesterday.

Tyrion nodded. 'You must allow them their flights of fancy. It's dreary in the North,' he replied.

Daenerys nodded at him, though she wasn't satisfied with his answer. 'Where is Lord Snow now?' she asked.

'I-I'm not quite sure, but…you cannot continue to address him as 'Lord',' Tyrion said uncomfortably, and he gave her a reproachful look. 'With respect, Your Grace, it will do nothing for your political relationship.'

'There _is_ no relationship,' Daenerys muttered, rolling her eyes.

'But there could be,' Tyrion said imploringly. 'If you approached Jon Snow with a more open mind.'

Daenerys rounded on him sharply. 'Are you saying our disagreement yesterday was _my_ fault?'

'W-well…yes!' Tyrion replied, grimacing. 'You were too busy wanting to impress him instead of actually listening to what he was saying.'

Daenerys looked flustered. 'You speak as if it was wrong for me to be cautious. I have encountered many men who have later revealed themselves to be treacherous,' she said, her voice shaking slightly with anger. 'You say you trust this Jon Snow, but it isn't that easy for me. I don't know him at all.'

'So _get_ to know him. Listen to what he has to say,' Tyrion urged. 'And give him permission to explore the caves for Dragonglass.'

Sighing irritably, Daenerys turned her back on him, closing her hands together and trying to stop her fingers from twitching in her agitation. She did not like to be chastised by her Hand. Nor did she like to face the hard truth that she had been behaving rather unreasonably around this Jon Snow.

'Do you think he thought me a fool?' Daenerys asked quietly, not looking around at him. 'Yesterday, in the audience chamber?'

A hint of a sympathetic smile crossed Tyrion's face as he tilted his head at her. 'Is that what you're afraid of?'

'I'm not afraid,' Daenerys said at once. 'I just want him – anyone – to see me as a worthy queen to follow.'

'If you are more gracious to him, if you…take off that mask and allow him to know what you are really like underneath all that splendour and those grand titles…then…I have no doubt that he will,' Tyrion said bracingly.

'It's funny. Missandei said something similar to me yesterday,' Daenerys murmured.

'Well, she's very wise. Like me,' Tyrion said, and Daenerys' lips twitched.

She thought back to how she had felt yesterday morning, just before Jon Snow's arrival. She had been anxiously walking the length of the map room, back and forth, wondering whether this stranger would be a threat to her cause. She could vividly remember Tyrion's earnest words before he went to greet their guest down at the shore, desperately trying to reassure her.

'Jon Snow can help. He has the loyalty of his people. He is the first man in history to unite the wildlings and the Northerners,' Tyrion had said confidently. 'He is a good man. We can trust him.'

Daenerys sighed as she turned to the open archway of the map room now and looked across at the horizon. She wished that she hadn't spent their entire audience yesterday speaking so much about her own misfortune, her own birthright. She didn't want Jon Snow to think her some ignorant, self-centred queen. Not that it mattered what this Jon Snow thought of her personally, of course it didn't. But still, she knew – as did everyone else on her council – that he was never going to swear his fealty to her if she continued to act this way. In all honesty, she wouldn't blame him either. She had spent their entire conversation talking consistently – obsessively, even – about how she rightfully deserved the Iron Throne, whereas he had talked only about what the people of the Seven Kingdoms needed. He did not seek power, unlike her. And it made her feel rather foolish. Perhaps it was time for her to calm down and lower the mask a little, just like Tyrion had suggested…and to consider what Jon was saying.

Deciding that she needed to get some air, Daenerys then left Tyrion in the map room and made her way out of the castle, deep in thought. The sun was only just beginning to set as she walked slowly down the path, and it was a glorious evening; her dragons were soaring peacefully over the still ocean. She came to a stop at the foot of one of the stone stairways, and rested her arms on the stone wall as she looked out over the cliffs, the sparkling sea glistening below.

She was too lost in a daydream to hear the gentle footsteps behind her as Jon slowly walked down the stone steps. He had been taking another walk around the cliffs, only to spot the sight of Daenerys' long silver hair, which she had tied up, at the bottom of the path. He watched in awe as one of her dragons flew above him with a heavy beat of his wings, crying out to his brother as he soared out towards the sea and the mountains in the distance.

'Amazing thing to see,' Jon said in greeting, awestruck, as he approached her from the steps.

Daenerys blinked, but did not turn around. 'I named them for my brothers, Viserys and Rhaegal,' she replied. 'They're both gone now.'

She turned around to face Jon, her arm still resting on the stone wall, to see that today he wore a huge fur-lined black cloak over his armour, billowing behind him in the fierce wind. Jon was somewhat relieved to come face to face with her after the tense ending to their conversation yesterday. Her expression seemed to have softened since then; her eyes were certainly no longer angry as she gazed up at him.

'You lost two brothers as well?' Daenerys said softly.

Jon gave a small nod of his head, his face falling as the grief washed over him again. At least they had something in common.

'People thought dragons were gone forever but here they are,' Daenerys said, looking out at her dragons, and she turned back to look up at Jon. 'Perhaps we should all be examining what we think we know.'

Jon bent his head low, pleasantly surprised by her words. Perhaps a day apart since their first meeting had been good for them; he certainly felt that, with the hostility and tension between them having seemingly deteriorated – at least for now – he was beginning to warm to her slightly. Jon took a few steps forward to stand beside her, and looked back out at the dragons, briefly recalling in his mind the stories his Old Nan had told him as a child. All the fairy tales he had never dared believe were true, but wanted to be true… and now they were. This was a new age, and he and Daenerys Targaryen were on the front lines of it.

'You've been talking to Tyrion,' Jon muttered.

Daenerys barely refrained from rolling her eyes. 'He _is_ my Hand,' she pointed out, as she rested her back against the wall.

She found it easier to talk to him without a room full of people watching them. She could sense he felt the same; there was a sense of familiarity about the way they spoke to each other, as if they had known each other a long time.

'He enjoys talking,' Jon said.

'We all enjoy what we're good at,' Daenerys said, raising her eyebrows.

There was a short silence as they both listened to the waves of the sea down below.

'I don't,' Jon eventually said, continuing to stare out at the horizon.

Daenerys paused and looked at him, her attention perked, her curiosity increased even more. She was reminded inexplicably of when Ser Barristan had once told her how her brother Rhaegal had never liked killing, despite how good he had been at it. Rhaegal had been notoriously kind, a leader without ambition, a leader who hadn't been greedy. It seemed that Jon shared the same attractive qualities. She glanced Jon up and down now; stood there in his impressive regal attire with his great big cloak, he looked almost intimidating.

When she realised that she had been gazing at Jon for too long, Daenerys then spoke up. 'You know I'm not going to let Cersei stay on the Iron Throne.'

'I never expected that you would,' Jon said, turning to face her.

'And I haven't changed my mind about which kingdoms belong to that throne,' she went on, tilting her head at him.

'I haven't either,' Jon retorted firmly, a fierce, challenging look in his eyes.

Daenerys stared at him for a moment, livid. She'd thought she had a good point until she'd heard Jon's comeback. Sighing and nostrils flaring, she looked away from him, infuriated.

She had been determined not to let him get to her this time, but he was making it _so hard_. She felt out of place; taken aback, even. Why was he so unyielding, so unimpressed? It was maddening. She had finally met someone as stubborn as she was, and it was then when Daenerys realised that never before had she found herself in this sort of situation before. She had never interacted with a man with whom she was on equal footing. It was somewhat daunting.

Jon clearly shared her feeling of frustration; he turned away from her as well, exhaling deeply and frowning broodingly over at the horizon. It was as if neither of them could stand the sight of each other, when actually deep down the complete opposite was true.

They stood in silence for a few moments, Daenerys thinking deeply. There was no winning with this man. No getting her own way. In a strange way, a part of her almost liked this about him; he was a challenge. She thought back to the vulnerability of his comment about how he did not enjoy leading. She could practically hear Tyrion's urgent words of advice in her ear.

Eventually, Daenerys turned to look at him. 'I will allow you to mine the Dragonglass and forge weapons from it,' she said, and Jon gazed at her, barely able to hide his surprise. 'Any resources or men you need I will provide for you.'

Jon considered her for a moment in awe, speechless. Her face – or rather, her expression – was so different to that of the woman he had met in the imposing audience chamber yesterday. She was not trying to intimidate him or force his hand this time; she was taking the first step in forming a trust between the two of them. And her soft expression was genuine, he could tell. It left Jon feeling rather stunned, and embarrassed for thinking so badly of her before.

'Thank you,' Jon said sincerely.

She did not smile; in response, Daenerys simply turned back to face the ocean, in a gesture clearly intended to mean that the conversation had finished. Jon turned to leave, but then held back before he could stop himself.

'So you believe me then?' Jon asked. 'About the Night King and the Army of the Dead?'

He didn't know why he asked her this. After all, why did he care what her opinion of him was? All that mattered was the Dragonglass. And yet there was something else…something deeper brewing beneath the surface. He wasn't sure if he was alone in feeling it; it was clear that Daenerys was determined not to give away a single hint of what she was feeling beneath her regal exterior.

Daenerys did not answer him, nor did she look at him…perhaps because, truthfully, she didn't know what to believe, and she didn't want to disrespect him anymore than she had already done yesterday. But she was touched that he wanted her to share his belief. She wasn't sure why, but she was.

'You better get to work, Jon Snow,' was Daenerys' reply, as she continued to look out at the sea.

Jon lowered his eyes awkwardly. The way she spoke his full name reminded him painfully of Ygritte. He hadn't thought of Ygritte – or of any part of that side of his life – for a great deal of time now. It was strange to suddenly be met with overwhelming feelings of nostalgia…of longing for the way he had felt back then with Ygritte…to be held and loved and kissed…to have someone to cherish once more. After Ygritte had died, Jon had just assumed that he would never want to experience that feeling again. And yet now, suddenly, it was washing over him like the waves crashing below, waking him up from his stupor. His face fell slightly as he gazed at Daenerys beside him, still determinedly not looking at him; this was not good at all. He could _not_ become attracted to her. It would be a disaster in the making.

Taking Daenerys' words as a dismissal, Jon then turned and walked away, back up the stone steps.

Daenerys looked back to watch him leave, and her features softened as her expression filled with intrigue. She couldn't help wondering what kind of man Jon Snow was. He was so different from all the others. She even felt some sort of connection towards him…she trusted him, and had no idea why. It made her curious.

Her heart skipped a beat slightly when she watched Jon come to a halt on his way up the steps; she turned quickly back to face the ocean so that he would not catch her gazing at him.

Jon turned back to her, a somewhat nervous expression on his face. 'Back at Winterfell,' he began, 'my sister Sana and all my bannermen told me not to come here. They said you'd never let me leave.'

Daenerys slowly turned to face him. 'Maybe they were right,' she said, unsmiling.

Jon stared at her. She was joking. At least…he thought she was joking. But then again, did she even have a sense of humour? She appeared too cold-hearted to make jokes. Hovering awkwardly, Jon took a step back, slightly perturbed by Daenerys' response. But then he felt his heart leap; despite her best efforts, Daenerys' lips had twitched into an ever so small, but very present, smile. A smile that seemed to change everything for him. Jon chuckled so quietly that she could not hear him, and then, with an appreciative nod, he turned and promptly walked up the rest of the stone path towards the castle. Daenerys watched him go, bewildered by the automatic response of her facial muscles. She couldn't remember the last time she had smiled like that. Perhaps it was his overwhelmingly awkward expression at her reply that had amused her so. But still, whatever it was, it unnerved her.

Daenerys exhaled deeply. _Pull yourself together._

She turned away, back to watch her ferocious, beautiful dragons as they sang to each other and danced in the air above the glistening ocean.

* * *

The next day found Daenerys up bright and early and already inside the map room before breakfast, preparing for her councils' forthcoming discussions on how best to proceed with Casterly Rock. Tyrion joined her not long after.

'Good morning, Your Grace,' he greeted. 'Missandei informed me you were already here.'

'Yes,' Daenerys murmured distractedly, and she looked up at him. 'Do you know if Jon Snow has gone down to the caves yet?'

Tyrion looked slightly taken aback by the question. 'He's due to begin exploring the caves this morning, yes,' he replied, eyeing her unsurely. 'He hopes that they will be able to locate the Dragonglass very soon.'

Daenerys nodded. 'Good. Make sure he has everything he needs.'

'I will,' Tyrion said, and he tilted his head at her, stunned. 'I'm impressed you're giving our honoured prisoner such generous thought.'

'He is _not_ a prisoner,' Daenerys said with a disapproving glance at him, but she paused when she caught sight of Tyrion's raised eyebrows.

'Whatever he is…I'm sure he appreciates how accommodating you are now being,' Tyrion said, watching her carefully.

'I'm sure he does,' Daenerys replied casually, though she didn't like his scrutinizing gaze. 'So…on to more important things. Casterly Rock.'

Tyrion took the hint, and did not broach on the subject of Jon Snow again.

Jon and Daenerys did not see much of either over the next few days – only in passing if ever they bumped into each other inside the castles' corridors. Jon ate separately with Davos, and spent the rest of his time spelunking in search of Dragonglass, as described in the map that Sam had sent him. Some of the tunnels in the caves were hard to reach or completely closed off, so Jon, Davos and the Dothraki whom Daenerys had provided spent the better part of two weeks mining entrances on the rocks.

During this short period of time, Jon and Daenerys slowly became accustomed to each other's ways, and although they did not particularly like each other, they were curious and acted moderately friendly towards each other on the rare occasions when their paths crossed on Dragonstone, and as time went on, they slowly began to understand each other's reasoning and sense of morality. Daenerys could see now that Jon was too clever and too loyal to surrender his kingdom to someone he did not know, just as she would not align with him for similar reasons. But they both shared a willingness to stand up for what they believed was right, no matter the odds, and it was this that encouraged Daenerys to believe that they would unite in a political alliance at some point in the near future.

She found herself deeply perplexed that, throughout the duration of his stay so far, Jon hadn't tried in any way to impress her. He was so very different from Drogo and Dario and every other man she had encountered. He did not try to flatter or charm Daenerys; instead he treated her like an equal and he was humble, a trait she was not familiar with herself, and one which she certainly didn't expect in a man trying to form a political alliance. It was Ser Davos and Tyrion who informed her of Jon's complicated past and background, at her request, and she was bewildered as to why Jon wouldn't boast of his commendable achievements, even if Ser Davos was somewhat vague about some of the details. It made her almost embarrassed after the fuss she had made about her own sufferings and titles during their first meeting in the audience chamber. It was obvious from Ser Davos's tales that Jon had little care or patience for the game of thrones; he saw power as a burden and a duty, and he had taken on his role not because he'd wanted it, but because he'd known his people needed him. Daenerys had never encountered a ruler like Jon Snow…one who cared more about his people than himself. It fascinated her.

In time, this fascination grew too strong for her to repress, and so it was trepidation and curiosity that Daenerys paid Jon a visit in his bed chamber one evening after he had returned from another exhausting day mining through the cave entrances down by the shore. Jon had only just removed his cloak and flung it onto his bed when Daenerys emerged quietly in his open doorway; he jumped in fright when he turned to see her stood there.

'Your Grace,' Jon said breathlessly, alarmed by her sudden appearance.

'Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you,' Daenerys said at once, only just managing to suppress a laugh at his reaction. 'I realised earlier that I've not yet come here myself to check whether you are comfortable here, so I thought…' She trailed off, not sure how to finish off her poor excuse for her journey over to this part of this castle.

'We've been well-attended. Davos and I are very content in these rooms,' Jon reassured her. 'Your hospitality has been…very generous.'

'I'm glad to hear it.'

There was a pause.

'Is there anything I can do for you, Your Grace?' Jon asked, bemused.

Daenerys lowered her eyes awkwardly. 'You don't need to…call me that all the time, you know.'

Jon tilted his head in surprise. 'As you wish.'

'I…I just wanted to ask how progress was on your expedition into the caves,' Daenerys said, making sure not to step forward into the room; that would be improper, after all.

'Progress is good, thank you. We've found the Dragonglass…and we've located the best spots to start mining,' Jon replied, and he glanced at her hopefully. 'I'd like to show you, if I may. Before my men and I start on the work.'

Daenerys considered him for a moment and raised her eyebrows. 'If you think it would be a good use of my time,' she said, trying to maintain a casual tone.

Jon nodded slowly. 'I think it would help us both see more…eye to eye, yes.'

'Then I will join you tomorrow.'

'Very well, Your Grace. I appreciate it,' Jon said, smiling at her; his face faltered when he realised that she was making no indication to leave. 'Was there something else?'

He wasn't sure whether to invite her in or not, but then thought against it; after all, it would be highly inappropriate. It confused him as to why she was still stood in the doorway – she hadn't indicated much interest in keeping his company over the past two weeks.

'You were Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, before you returned to Winterfell,' Daenerys said, watching him thoughtfully.

Jon looked confused. 'I was.'

'May I ask…how you achieved that position?' Daenerys asked, interested. 'Tyrion tells me you started out as merely a steward, and…well, you're so young.'

'I could ask exactly the same thing of you,' Jon said, before he'd had time to think of a response.

Daenerys gave him a questioning look.

'Isn't it true you started out as nothing, only to gain enough power to conquer and maintain peace in Slaver's Bay? You became ruler of Mereen,' Jon pointed out.

'I did,' Daenerys replied. 'But I had three dragons to help me with that. You had none.'

Jon raised his eyebrows at her, amused. 'I don't think it was just your dragons that got you where you were. Impressive as they are,' he added.

A hint of a smile appeared on Daenerys' face, but before she had time to respond, Ser Davos appeared beside her. He was looking at Daenerys in bewilderment. What on earth was _she_ doing _here_?

'Err…pardon me,' Davos said unsurely, completely perplexed, and he glanced at Jon. 'I can…return later.'

'No, please – do not leave on my account,' Daenerys said, tearing her eyes off Jon to address Davos, and she took a step back. 'I must return to my chambers anyway. Have you both been fed?'

'Missandei has made arrangements for our supper this evening,' Jon replied appreciatively, and he smiled at her. 'Thank you.'

'I will…see you tomorrow morning at the caves, then,' Daenerys said, giving him a brief nod, and Davos gave Jon another startled look.

'Tomorrow morning, Your Grace.'

Davos watched as the two people gazed at each other for a moment longer than necessary, and he couldn't help feeling like it was wrong for him to be here…like he was intruding on something private. Swallowing slightly and folding her hands together, Daenerys then departed. The two dazed men listened to her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she walked away; once she was out of earshot, Davos turned to raise his eyebrows questioningly at Jon, but Jon said nothing and became suddenly very fascinated in brushing down his cloak.

Davis looked down with a frown, thinking deeply about this new…complication. Jon could deny it all he wanted and pretend that everything was as it was meant to be, but Davos knew differently. There was no denying the look that had passed between Jon and Daenerys as she had left.


	4. Inside The Caves

**Based on events during Episode 4 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

At Daenerys' request, Missandei came to her bed chamber earlier than usual the next morning to help dress her and arrange her hair for her upcoming visit to the caves. Missandei didn't question why Daenerys wanted longer to prepare, but she didn't really need to; it was evident in the nervous expression on Daenerys' face and her uncommon silence. In fact, it was only when Missandei retrieved a selection of different-coloured sashes that Daenerys finally spoke up.

'Grey is one of the colours of House Stark, is that right?' she asked.

'I believe so, Your Grace,' Missandei replied.

Daenerys nodded. 'Then I shall wear that today,' she said, pointing at the grey sash.

Missandei watched her queen carefully as she fastened the grey sash onto Daenerys' black cloak. 'Forgive me for prying, but…does this mean you are warming to our…guest, Your Grace?' she asked tentatively.

'It means I am willing to consider forming an alliance with him,' Daenerys replied. 'Depending on his actions over the next few weeks.'

'Do you think he will pledge his loyalty to you?' Missandei asked.

'I couldn't say,' Daenerys said thoughtfully. 'I barely know the man and yet I can already tell he is…different from most. And very stubborn.'

Missandei smiled. 'Rather like yourself, if you don't mind me saying so, Your Grace,' she said, and Daenerys laughed softly; Missandei then swallowed nervously. 'Some would say he is quite…pleasant to look at.'

Daenerys frowned, taken aback by Missandei's comment. 'I wouldn't know, I have more important matters to focus on,' she said dismissively, as she corrected an out-of-place strand of hair.

'Of course, Your Grace,' Missandei said at once, but when Daenerys caught her eye they both shared a knowing smirk.

The two friends left the castle not long after, followed by an entourage of the Dothraki Queensguard. It was a dreary day, as it so often was on Dragonstone, but despite the grey clouds and miserable temperature, Daenerys felt strangely positive as they made their way steadily down the path towards the shore.

'Your Grace,' Missandei began nervously, 'there's still no word from the Unsullied.'

'Soon,' Daenerys promised as they walked down the steps, and she gazed sympathetically at Missandei. 'He will come back to you.'

'He'd better,' Missandei said, and something in her tone struck Daenerys; she stopped briefly and turned to look at her.

'What happened?' Daenerys asked curiously, as they continued walking.

Missandei began to smile. 'Many things.'

Daenerys turned to her, shocked, and stopped Missandei by holding her arm. ''Many things'?' she repeated suggestively, smirking as Missandei began to blush.

Missandei's smug smile made Daenerys almost envious. She wished she could find excitement and love like that, just as Missandei had. She wished she could meet someone who made her just as giddy and lovestruck and spellbound. Daario had never been that for her. In hindsight, Daenerys wasn't even sure if Drogo had been either. She had yet to encounter true love like Missandei was clearly in the midst of right now. Daenerys was happy for her, of course she was, but it filled her with heartache and longing. The war was upon them now. It was too late for any of chance of that happening with anyone, particularly with her role as queen. It was not her place to take part in such frivolities. Besides, she would probably never meet someone who would make her heart soar the way Grey Worm did Missandei's.

'Your Grace.'

Daenerys blinked rapidly and turned; Jon Snow had appeared at the foot of the path, and was looking up at them both, a polite smile on his face. Daenerys turned to look at Missandei, her lips twitching. Missandei was still smiling. Trying but failing to keep a serious expression, Daenerys glanced back at Jon waiting for her. She wished that Missandei hadn't mentioned how 'pleasant' Jon Snow was to look at; it made it harder to focus on the task at hand.

Jon swallowed slightly as he watched Daenerys turn to speak in Valyrian to her Queensguard, motioning for them to stand down. The way that she had smiled so slyly at Missandei left Jon feeling rather self-conscious, and perhaps secretly hopeful as well. He wondered what they had been discussing so mischievously. More importantly, he was grateful that she had asked her guards to stay back; this would be hard enough without a horde of Dothraki watching him intimidatingly. It was refreshing to know as well that, although he had not fully won her over, Daenerys did at least trust him enough at this point to leave her guards behind.

Daenerys descended the stone steps with Missandei close behind; Jon nodded at them both in greeting and then led the way along the damp shore towards one of the caves. It only took them a few minutes to reach the dark entrance, where Davos was waiting for them with a lit torch. Daenerys couldn't help wondering what on earth Jon had brought her all this way here for and how it would be in any way useful for her, but nevertheless, she had come here now. She wasn't really sure why.

Jon took the lit torch from Davos and led the way into the reclusive little cave. 'I wanted you to see it before we start hacking it to bits,' he explained, his voice echoing through the loud tunnel of the caves' entrance.

They continued and walked deeper into the rocky structure and went through a narrow passageway, Daenerys growing more curious with every minute, until eventually they rounded a corner and appeared in the vast heart of the cave. Jon lit a nearby brazier with his torch and Daenerys' mouth fell open as she gazed up in awe. The grand walls of the cave rose so high that Daenerys could barely make out where they ended, but it was the sparkling shards of glass embedded between the rock stratum that left her spellbound. It was magical.

'So this is it,' Jon said, his voice ringing proudly around the cave. 'All we'll ever need.'

He turned around to face Daenerys, proud with what he had found, but then he saw her and froze. She was so beautiful. Just the sight of her stood there, gazing up in wonder at the incredible sight of the Dragonglass before her, the light of Jon's torch bathing her in a stunning glow…it took his breath away. It unnerved him slightly.

Jon quickly recovered his expression. 'There is something else I want to show you, Your Grace,' he said in a quieter voice.

Daenerys tore her eyes off the Dragonglass walls. 'Where?' she asked him breathlessly.

'Further in the cave. Just through that passage,' Jon replied, indicating the narrow tunnel that led beyond. 'It's…quite a small space.'

Daenerys hesitated for a moment, and then turned back to Missandei. 'You may leave us now. We will re-join you outside.'

Missandei looked scandalised. 'But, Your Grace-'

'It's all right, I will be fine,' Daenerys reassured her gently, and she tilted her head at Jon. 'I'm not on my own.'

Missandei glanced unsurely back and forth between Jon and Daenerys, but knew that her protests wouldn't get her anywhere; Daenerys' word was final. Jon looked over to Davos, who was hovering awkwardly in the background.

'Ser Davos, please could you escort Missandei out of the cave?' Jon asked.

Davos nodded. 'Of course, Your Grace.'

Missandei glanced back anxiously as Davos led her outside, but with a stern look from Daenerys, she eventually went with him, albeit reluctantly. This left Jon and Daenerys alone in the cave; this realisation seemed to hit them both as their eyes met.

Jon cleared his throat as he led the way on towards the next passage. 'I'm honoured you trust me enough to be alone with me,' he said.

'Be careful, or I might think you're suggesting something improper,' Daenerys said with a raise of her eyebrows, and Jon blinked rapidly, completely taken aback by her joke and unsure of a suave way in which to respond. 'Where does this passage lead?'

'Err…there's a small chamber at the end,' Jon said, still a little flustered, and he indicated the way. 'After you, Your Grace.'

Daenerys held her hand out. 'May I?'

I took Jon a moment to realise that she was asking for him to hand her the torch in his hands, and he eyed her doubtfully. 'It's, err, it's quite heavy.'

Daenerys stared at him, unimpressed. 'I think I can manage.'

'O-of course you can, forgive me…' Jon said, embarrassed, and he carefully handed the torch over.

'It's quite all right,' Daenerys said with a roll of her eyes, and she took the torch and led the way on.

It didn't take them long to reach the end of the incredibly narrow passageway; despite a few rocks that they had to clamber over and a few tight spaces to squeeze through, Daenerys led the way gracefully and without complaint, and they soon arrived in a small chamber hidden away at the back of the cave. Daenerys came to a halt and exhaled deeply as she looked up. These walls were not embedded with Dragonglass, but they were filled with something else – paintings of various murals and mysterious symbols. The symbols had no meaning to her, but she was sure there was some sort of mystical significance about them. They were extraordinary.

'The Children of the Forest made these,' Jon explained, resting his arm against one of the jagged rocky walls; he knew this after receiving a recent letter from Sam.

'When?' Daenerys asked, astonished, as she slowly moved the torch over to shine the light of the flames on all the different fascinating drawings.

'A very long time ago,' Jon murmured.

Daenerys felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 'They were right here. Standing where we're standing,' she said, awestruck, and Jon glanced at her, spellbound. 'Before there were Targaryens or Starks or Lannisters. Maybe even before there were men.'

Jon turned again to face her, a small smile on his face. 'No.'

She looked at him questioningly and followed as he led the way towards the other corner of the small chamber. She held out the torch more closely as together they examined the murals on this different wall; to her surprise, they depicted the Children of the Forest and the First Men standing in a group.

'They were here together,' Jon said, 'the Children and the First Men.'

'Doing what? Fighting each other?' Daenerys wondered aloud.

Jon turned to look at her again. She was so mesmerised by the paintings on the walls that she had no idea that Jon was unable to go a minute without gazing longingly at her. The stirrings in him that he had felt when they had first met were developing into something deeper, something that he had not been expecting or prepared for in any way. He knew he needed to switch those feelings off, but he didn't know how. Right now, looking at her, it felt like an impossible task.

Suddenly aware of his eyes on her, Daenerys turned to face him. The intense gaze in his eyes threw her off guard slightly, but this was nothing compared to when he then reached out and held her wrist with his gloved hand. Jon wasn't sure what made him do it, but something about this chamber and the firelight of the torch created an intimate ambiance, and so it felt natural to take her by the arm. Daenerys knew that he was crossing a boundary that no person would ordinarily have done, particularly having spent such little time together, but for some reason, it didn't bother her. In fact, she quite enjoyed it…so she let him guide her towards another part of the wall, where he slowly swung the torch in the direction of the other, much larger, murals that awaited them. His gentle touch left tingles in her arm, even after he had reluctantly released his hold, but then Daenerys was soon distracted by the sight of these new paintings. They depicted creatures that almost looked like skeletons, holding deadly spears, their eyes a piercing blue.

The White Walkers.

'They fought together…against their common enemy,' Jon said, as Daenerys stared in horror at the terrifyingly realistic murals before her. 'Despite their differences, despite their…suspicions.'

Daenerys slowly turned to face him, stood merely a few metres from her, his gaze intense, his tone firm. She knew now why he had brought her here.

'Together,' Jon said, the word ringing around the chamber. 'We need to do the same, if we're going to survive.'

They both looked back towards the wall. The Night King had been painted at the forefront of the group. The sight made Daenerys shudder.

'Because the enemy is real,' Jon went on. 'It's always been real.'

Daenerys looked back at him, shaken by the paintings. He had an imploring expression on his face as he looked back at her, waiting for her to respond. All she could do was stare at him; she could almost taste the tension in the air. Although, they both knew deep down that the tension wasn't just political here. There was conflict between them, that alone was obvious, and yet as they held each other's gaze it became increasingly evident that there was something else. An attraction? Maybe even something stronger than that. Daenerys felt inexplicably drawn to him, though she didn't want to be. She wondered if he was feeling the same bizarre experience that she was.

'And you say you can't defeat them without my armies and my dragons?' Daenerys asked him in a low voice.

Jon lowered his eyes briefly before looking back up at her. 'No, I don't think I can,' he replied truthfully.

She considered him for a moment, lost in that intense gaze of his, and then, ever so slowly, took two steps forward closer to him. The sight of Daenerys approaching him, her stunning face growing ever closer, shook Jon to his very core. He almost wanted to look away; after all, he couldn't allow for any complications in this alliance…he couldn't give in to whatever undeniable feelings he was beginning to have. And yet he couldn't look away. He was completely under her spell, lost in those mesmerising eyes of hers, and the small space, their close proximity…it made Jon's heart race like it had never done before. He was so afraid to fall in love again. He couldn't risk it, not now. No matter what his heart craved.

Jon was inwardly grateful that the firelight from the torch in Daenerys' hand prevented her from seeing the blush on his cheeks as she neared towards him, but there was no way avoiding her seeing the way he stepped back, flustered, once she had come to a stop in front of him, her eyes boring into his.

Daenerys truly didn't know what to make of him or his nervous expression. All she knew was that her resolve had weakened somewhat now that she had seen these paintings, and that she was indeed beginning to trust this intriguing, handsome man. Not only that, but…she was starting to like him as well. There was a tenderness for him, and it stunned her how deeply he was affecting her simply by just standing there with wide, brooding eyes.

'I _will_ fight for you. I will fight for the north,' Daenerys said firmly, and her words were music to Jon's ears…until – 'when you bend the knee.'

Jon's heart sank, a feeling of exhaustion washing over him. He should have seen that coming. In all fairness, she was now trying to reason with him rather than by simply demanding that he submit to her. And he could no longer pretend to himself that he was not attracted to her, but he couldn't let this blind his judgement. He couldn't pledge fealty to someone, let alone fall for someone, who he did not yet completely trust.

'My people…won't accept a southern ruler,' Jon murmured helplessly. 'Not after everything they've suffered.'

Daenerys then took a step even closer to Jon until they were face to face. They were merely inches apart now. He could count every last one of her eyelashes.

'They will if their king does,' Daenerys said earnestly. 'They chose you to lead them. They chose you to protect them. Isn't their survival more important than your pride?'

He knew she made a good point. In fact, she was making the exact same argument that Jon himself had once made to Mance Rader when he'd tried to convince him to bend the knee to Stannis Baratheon. But nothing, not even her dazzling face so close to his and her bewitching eyes gazing up so deeply at him, would change his mind.

Jon took another step back and averted his gaze. 'I wish they could see it that way,' he said apologetically. 'But it's hard for you to understand – they've already lost faith in me by my simply coming here to meet you. And I can't betray my home.'

A short silence fell. Daenerys' face was fixed once again onto that stony look of disappointment that Jon was becoming only too well accustomed to. But then her features softened as she took a step away from him and raised her eyebrows.

'Well, you're very loyal to the North, Jon Snow, there's no doubt about that,' she said, looking back towards the chamber walls.

Jon frowned. 'I'm not sure if you're saying that out of disappointment or respect.'

'No, I'm not sure either,' Daenerys admitted, glancing at him.

He watched frustratedly as she eyed the murals once more in concern. Agitated, he closed the distance between them with a few sharp strides.

'Look…with respect, Your Grace, if you weren't so…obsessed with taking the Iron Throne, which hardly matters compared to the threat facing us beyond the Wall, then-' But Jon cut himself short at the look on her face.

'You think this is an _obsession_ of mine?' Daenerys said sharply, raising her eyebrows at him, and she sighed. 'This has been what I've been working towards almost my entire life. And it's only grown stronger for me, particularly since Cersei took the Iron Throne. She is an evil woman, and she is destroying Westeros. It's not so much about me and what I am owed, it is more about saving the people whose lives she is so determined to ruin.'

'Can't you see that those lives will already _be_ ruined, when the Army of the Dead comes?' Jon said earnestly, pointing at the paintings on the walls before them. 'The White Walkers will destroy Westeros long before Cersei does. I'm not disagreeing with you that she is evil. What I'm saying is…the Night King is more so. And his army _has_ to be the top priority, if we ever have a hope of defeating them.'

'But Cersei is a very real threat happening right now and-'

'And the White Walkers aren't?!' Jon interrupted incredulously; Daenerys was taken aback by his sudden disregard for formalities. 'Are you saying you still don't believe me? Not even with these as evidence?'

'These are drawings from centuries ago, they are not proof!' Daenerys snapped, and she sighed deeply. 'I don't think you're lying. But it is very hard to believe what you're saying. I _am_ trying to, but it's difficult.'

'I understand,' Jon said wearily. 'It sounds like a story. A nightmare. But it's a nightmare that will soon become our reality.'

Daenerys slowly reached out and held his wrist, trying to reassure him; her soft touch momentarily calmed him down and stunned him into silence. 'And we will work to defeat it, I promise you,' she said quietly. 'But first, I need to focus on the war that is happening _now_.'

Jon considered her for a moment and then let out an almighty groan. Daenerys withdrew her hand from his wrist as he took a few steps back, clasping his hands to his face irritably.

'What?' Daenerys asked, startled by his attitude.

'You…you're the most stubborn person I've ever met!' Jon said exasperatedly, and it came as somewhat a relief – as well as a shock – to see that when he removed his hands from his face, he was chuckling. 'It's driving me bloody mad.'

Amused at his anger, Daenerys pressed her lips together to fight back a smile. No one had ever challenged her or reacted to her in this way before. She was rather enjoying it.

'No offence, Your Grace,' Jon added half-heartedly.

Daenerys wiggled her eyebrows at him, her lips twitching. 'It takes a great deal more than that to offend me, Jon Snow,' she said, and she sighed as she took a few steps closer to him again, apparently unable to keep her distance. 'I'm aware I'm not easy company. But I won't be someone I'm not.'

'And I admire you for it,' Jon said sincerely, taking a step forward as well, and her pupils dilated as she watched him take in every inch of her face with his smouldering eyes. 'I've never met a woman like you before.'

His look was so intense that it took a moment before Daenerys felt she was able to speak. 'Is that a compliment or an insult?' she asked quietly, and Jon's lips twitched.

'I think you know,' he murmured.

Daenerys exhaled rather shakily as he continued to gaze at her. Her lips parted to say something but no sound came out. Jon noticed this; her lips had become suddenly very entrancing in these last few moments. Blinking rapidly, Jon then abruptly turned away from her; Daenerys let out a deep breath as her heartbeat ever so slowly began to return to its normal rate.

'Well, we should go. Your decision is made, there's no point staying around here,' Jon said glumly, walking past her back towards the passage.

'I'm sorry,' Daenerys said, without thinking, and Jon turned back to face her, stunned. 'I don't mean to…insult you. I mean no disrespect.'

Jon hesitated. 'I know.'

'Thank you for showing me these paintings. They've…been very enlightening – truly, they have,' Daenerys said sincerely, 'and I know your time is very valuable. Please do start the mining of the Dragonglass as soon as you are able. I will ask more men to assist you with your work. By the time you have forged your weapons, hopefully my war with Cersei will already be won. And then we can…hold discussions about how best to proceed.'

By that, Jon knew she meant discussions more specifically about him bending the knee, but still…it was a start. Perhaps she could be persuaded to let go of this ridiculous need for fealty from him, in time. Daenerys took one last look at the haunting painting of the Night King before handing the torch carefully over to Jon, her fingers accidentally brushing against his own gloved ones, before following him out of the chamber.

'How long until you win your war against Cersei then, do you think?' Jon asked as they walked back through the passage.

'Once we have taken Casterly Rock, that will be a significant step forward. We take it from there once we hear back from the Unsullied, but…it should not be long. I have a vast army and three dragons. And potentially another strong ally,' Daenerys said determinedly. 'It won't be long.'

Jon turned back to face her in surprise; he realised from her pointed gaze that by 'strong ally', she had meant him. He wasn't sure whether to feel outraged, deeply touched, or just plain confused. His thoughts surrounding Daenerys were extremely perplexing anyway, even without the technicalities of whether or not they were truly 'allies' yet.

They soon reached the smallest part of the narrow passageway; Jon carefully clambered over one of the rocks and then turned back, where he extended his hand to help Daenerys down. Daenerys regarded it for a moment – after all, she didn't need his help, and they both knew she had successfully managed it the other way on first entering the chamber – but she took it anyway. The moment their hands touched, it was as if a spark was lit, like a flame had risen from the ashes, an unbreakable connection formed. Even with Jon wearing his gloves, they both felt it…the strange sensation that left both of them tingling, not out of nerves or fear, but out of something else that neither of them could quite understand. Their eyes met, and they knew from just one brief gaze – before hastily averting their eyes – that they had both experienced the same shock. Daenerys swallowed and murmured her thanks as she stepped down back onto the solid rocky ground, while Jon turned firmly to focus on getting them out of the cave, back to the company of others, away from this unfamiliar, frightening, burgeoning intimacy.

Their fingers lingered before letting go.


	5. Daenerys' Plan of Attack

**Based on events during Episode 4 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Daenerys was overwhelmingly relieved when they were reunited with Missandei and Ser Davos just before the caves' entrance. She gave Missandei a wide-eyed expression as they approached but said nothing as she and Jon took the lead in making the groups' way out of the cave. It had certainly been an informative and – dare she say it – almost-romantic exploration of the Dragonglass caves, and there was a satisfying sense of union as she and Jon walked out of the caves side-by-side. Indeed, as they left the caves she felt quite unusually happy – she wasn't sure why – at least until Tyrion and Varys approached her from the beach with the bad news. The Unsullied had taken Casterly Rock…but they had lost Highgarden at the hands of the Lannister forces. The whole endeavour at Casterly Rock had been one clever distraction on the enemies' part. And now Daenerys was truly defeated because of it.

Jon watched Daenerys warily as she marched on back across the beach, furious. He didn't blame her for being angry with her council for their failed plan; she had now lost two valuable allies, and most of her fleet. She was clearly feeling the pressure of her increasingly-precarious situation. In truth, she was incensed, but determined not to lose her temper in front of Jon, so instead she stomped ahead of everyone else, hoping that no one would say anything to anger her even more. Everything had gone wrong since she had arrived at Dragonstone. It almost made Jon's presence here a good thing. Perhaps she would soon have to admit to herself that it was, and had been for some time. But she couldn't be distracted by thoughts of her new, complicated potential ally; she needed to strike now on the enemy and do something momentous, otherwise she would lose this fight before it even began.

'You'll want to discuss this amongst yourselves,' Davos began awkwardly as he and Jon trailed behind. 'Perhaps-'

'You will stay,' Daenerys cut over him firmly as she marched on, and Jon exchanged a heavy glance with Davos. 'All my allies are gone. They've been taken from me while I've been sitting here on this island!'

'We still have the largest army,' Tyrion pointed out.

'Who won't be able to eat because Cersei has taken all the food from the Reach!' Daenerys snapped, and she sounded close to tears.

'Call Grey Worm and the Unsullied back. We still have enough ships to carry the Dothraki to the mainland,' Tyrion said encouragingly, hurrying after her. 'Commit to the blockade of King's Landing. We have a plan. It's still the right plan.'

'The right plan?!' Daenerys said incredulously, her voice snarling with rage as she stopped walking and rounded furiously on Tyrion. 'Your strategy has lost us Dorne, the Iron Islands and the Reach.'

Tyrion faltered slightly. 'If I've underestimated our enemies-'

'Our enemies? Your family, you mean,' Daenerys spat, glaring down at him. 'Perhaps you don't want to hurt them after all.'

Jon hovered awkwardly just a few steps behind Tyrion, and glanced around at the others. They were all watching Daenerys, afraid, as she turned away from Tyrion in disgust and looked out over the ocean, where her three dragons were flying in the dreary sky over the water.

'Enough with the clever plans,' Daenerys said scornfully, and she turned back to look at Tyrion. 'I have three large dragons. I'm going to fly them to the Red Keep.'

Jon frowned at her warily. _Oh, shit._

'We've discussed this,' Tyrion began cautiously, raising his eyebrows at her.

'My enemies are _in_ the Red Keep,' Daenerys said firmly, her expression determined and full of hatred. 'What kind of a queen am I if I'm not willing to risk my life to fight them?'

'A smart one,' Tyrion replied, his tone earnest.

Daenerys looked away, too furious with Tyrion to listen to him. She glanced back towards her dragons but then did a double-take as she remembered Jon, stood there looking very out-of-place and rather uncomfortable. He was averting her gaze.

She was then struck by a thought. 'What do you think I should do?' she asked.

It was only when Jon looked up that he realised, with a shock, that she was addressing him. His face fell as he read the look on her face, her desperation for an answer. Did she not see that he was _not_ that answer? He wasn't responsible or experienced enough to give such advice, and from the bewildered expressions on everyone else's faces, it seemed he wasn't the only one in the present group who thought that.

'I would never presume to-' he began uncomfortably, but Daenerys interrupted him.

'I'm at war. I'm losing,' Daenerys said, lowering her voice as she walked directly over to Jon.

She didn't care that her advisors were watching her with doubt and confusion. She didn't care that they had realised, just from the way she spoke to him, that there had been a shift in her and Jon's relationship. All she cared about was the opinion of a leader. An equal. A man she, for some inexplicable reason, trusted.

'What do you think I should do?' Daenerys repeated, slowly and firmly, as she fixed Jon with a hard gaze.

Jon was horrified. He didn't want to be involved in this, not at all. But he could see, as he stared back into Daenerys' eyes, that she was desperate. And she valued his counsel. Why, he could not say. But he had to give it.

He sighed heavily and looked over at the ocean, mesmerised once again by the sight of her flying dragons, as he thought deeply about her conundrum.

'I never thought that dragons would exist again. No one did. The people who follow you know that you made something impossible happen,' Jon said, turning back to face her. 'Maybe that helps them believe that you can make other impossible things happen. Build a world that's different from the shit one they've always known.'

He glanced back towards the dragons and sighed again. Daenerys was holding onto his every word, as was everyone else assembled.

'But if you use _them_ to melt castles and burn cities, you're not different,' Jon said, turning back from the dragons to gaze sorrowfully at Daenerys. 'You're just more of the same.'

Daenerys gazed at him for a moment, grateful that he had managed to soothe her fiery temper, and then she turned back heavily to watch her dragons. She knew deep down that Jon was right; she did not want to be just another tyrant. If she wanted to be different from the terrible rulers of the past, she couldn't just bring fire and blood whenever it was most convenient. But still…she had to do _something_.

At her suggestion, Daenerys then retired to the castle to try and recover her trust in Tyrion, while Jon and Davos stayed behind at the caves to form the best mining strategy in order to acquire the Dragonglass as quickly as possible. Darkness had fallen by the time the two men traipsed tiredly back up to the castle, but Jon didn't even have time to bathe or eat before Daenerys approached him from the front castle doors. She appeared to have been waiting for his return.

'Your Grace,' Jon said in surprise.

'Forgive me for disturbing you, I know you're…very busy,' Daenerys said, glancing awkwardly between him and Davos. 'But I wondered if I could have a moment of your time?'

'Of course,' Jon replied; he nodded reassuringly at Davos, who then left for his bed chamber.

Daenerys led Jon in silence through the audience chamber and into a smaller cave-like room that Jon had not been in before – the chamber of the painted table.

'This is…the chamber I use for my council sessions,' Daenerys said, walking into the room, her fingers lightly touching the table as she went over to the other end. 'I spend most hours of every day in here, if I'm honest.'

Jon stayed stood by the entrance, but then approached the impressive table tentatively. 'This map's very impressive,' he said, eyeing it in awe. 'Must be useful for Tyrion.'

'Hm,' Daenerys said with pursed lips, unimpressed. 'If he were any good at forming strategies.'

Jon tilted his head at her. 'Don't be too hard on him,' he said reproachfully. 'He underestimated what the enemy would do. It was one mistake. Think of all the good he's done for you since you met him.'

Daenerys raised her eyebrows. 'You're very sure of him,' she said.

'I've recently had to become good at telling who's loyal and trustworthy. There are very few people like that. But I can see he's one of them,' Jon replied. 'Have you…had any more thoughts? On the Highgarden defeat?'

'You don't need to worry, I'm not going to storm King's Landing. I often need a bit of time after some bad news, to think rationally. And some good words of advice,' Daenerys said pointedly, nodding at him.

'I'm glad I could…be of service.'

'But I can't stay here and do nothing,' Daenerys said firmly.

Jon sighed heavily. 'No, I didn't think you would,' he muttered.

'Don't look at me like that. I'm a queen,' Daenerys said. 'My enemy has made a serious move against me, and I need to retaliate in some form. Otherwise I'll have already lost.'

'What did you have in mind?' Jon asked warily.

'The Lannister army that took Highgarden – I'll focus solely on them. And I'll go to them myself,' Daenerys replied.

Jon's eyes widened. 'You and your dragons?'

'I only need to take one. Drogon will-'

'Are you mad?' Jon interrupted her incredulously, without thinking.

A short, stunned silence fell, during which Daenerys looked up from the map table and glared at him, completely taken aback. 'When I invite you into my chamber, I – I mean, my council chamber – I expect _some_ level of respect,' she said sharply. 'I know you and I don't see eye to eye, but to insult me like that in my own-!'

'Forgive me, Your Grace,' Jon said, sighing wearily. 'I only meant that…to go yourself. It's not a wise move.'

'And why is that?' Daenerys demanded, her nostrils flaring. 'You think me incapable? As a woman?'

Jon stared at her incredulously. 'Of course I fucking don't, I-'

'And now that sort of language,' Daenerys spat, turning away from him irritably, 'I cannot believe-'

'Your Grace, I'm not going to treat you like some God or some saviour of mankind,' Jon cut over her loudly, causing Daenerys to freeze. 'I'm not going to speak to you differently or act any differently than I would anyone else. Otherwise it's all just false. I'm not beneath you, I'm your equal. You may not agree, and I completely understand if you don't. But don't tell me what I can and can't say to you. And don't patronise me. If you want me as an ally, then you'll be getting all of me, the real me, not some stiff man too afraid to speak his own mind. Is that clear?'

He felt slightly nervous speaking this way to Daenerys, but he also felt like it needed to be said. She needed to get off her high horse around him. From the way she was staring at him and breathing deeply, Jon realised he seemed to have stunned her into speechlessness. He felt the shame rise in him, and he looked down at his feet.

'I'll take my leave now,' he said quietly, and with a nod at her he began to back out of the chamber.

'Stay.'

Jon hesitated and looked back up at her. She was holding her head high, but her features had softened somewhat.

'I'd like it if you would stay. Please,' she added reluctantly, her voice less sharp than before.

Jon took a few steps back towards the table, as they both kept their eyes firmly on each other. Daenerys exhaled deeply.

'You are right,' she said.

Jon raised his eyebrows. 'How much did it hurt to say that?' he muttered, and he thought he saw a slight twitch of her lips, though he couldn't be sure.

'Forgive me. It was not my intention to belittle you or your position. I'm just…I suppose I'm not accustomed to…brutal honesty like yours,' Daenerys admitted.

Jon nodded in understanding. 'I only mean to be realistic. I just don't want to pander to you and what you want, even if that's what everyone else feels they need to do. And I don't doubt your abilities,' he said sincerely. 'I believe that you could defeat the Lannister army. But to go yourself, rather than just send your armies, would be very dangerous. You could get harmed or killed, and then it would all be for nothing.'

'I know the risks. And I'm not afraid of them. Because I know I can do this,' Daenerys said, making Jon's lips part in awe. 'And I know it's the only way. If I sent my armies alone it would be a massacre, there would be no survivors.'

Jon pulled a sceptical face. 'But…your dragon will be…merciful?' he said sarcastically.

Daenerys rolled her eyes, only just managing not to smile. 'Obviously there will be casualties. That is the point of an attack. But I will gain more support if I go myself and ask the survivors to pledge fealty afterwards,' she explained.

''Ask them'?' Jon said incredulously, and he stared at her in bewilderment. 'With a fire-breathing dragon there, they'll have no choice. They'll be scared into bending the knee, and that's not how you want to win more supporters. They won't truly believe in you or your cause, they'll have been threatened into doing it.'

'Well _you_ haven't bent the knee, and my dragons are here. Do you think I'm going to threaten you with one of my dragons simply because you have not done as I've asked?' Daenerys said sceptically.

'The thought may have crossed my mind,' Jon said, and he realised as he said it that he wasn't sure whether he was joking with her or not.

Daenerys exhaled deeply again, unsure how to act around this unusual man. 'Sit down. Please,' she said, gesturing a chair along the side of the map table as she sat down on her chair at the end of the table.

Jon walked over warily and took his allocated seat, before turning his full attention back to her. She was watching him carefully, her gaze imploring.

'I'm not my father, Lord Snow. It's very important to me that you know this,' she said.

'I know. You just want to make sure you don't…_become_ your father,' Jon said tentatively. 'War can make monsters of us all.'

Daenerys tilted her head at him. 'And you? Could it make a monster out of you?'

Jon looked down. 'It's certainly tried,' he muttered glumly.

'I can be ruthless, I don't deny it. Perhaps I sometimes take matters too far. But _you_ won't take them far enough,' Daenerys said, leaning forwards slightly as she addressed him. 'This is the only way for me to move forward, as far as I can see. The Lannister army have taken one of my most valuable allies, and so I must attack back. I don't deserve to be Queen if I don't fight for what I believe in, and for what is mine.'

'I understand,' Jon said heavily. 'May I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

He gestured the chamber. 'Why am I here? Why are you showing me this room?'

'Because I'll be leaving you in charge while I am away,' Daenerys said simply.

It took a moment for Jon to process what she had just said, but even then he wasn't sure if he believed it. 'I'm sorry, what?'

Daenerys pressed her hands together and rested them on the table. 'I'll be taking my Dothraki army with me, and we'll need to allow for some time to get there. We may be gone for quite a number of days, probably weeks, and I need someone to remain here to watch over Dragonstone, in case the Unsullied and any survivors from the Greyjoy attack return before I do,' she explained.

'Your Grace…I'm honoured but…wh-what about Tyrion?' Jon asked desperately.

'He will be coming with me and the Dothraki to the Blackwater Rush,' Daenerys replied.

'You know where the Lannister army will be?'

'Varys normally has reliable information, yes.'

'And…what about Missandei? Wouldn't you prefer her to be in charge-?'

'Missandei does not wish for such responsibility-'

'And you think I do?' Jon interrupted, raising his eyebrows.

'You are a leader,' Daenerys said firmly. 'Whether you asked for it or not, you have been elected as the leader of the entire North. And I can see you're good at it. If you want this to work between us, then please grant me this favour. I'm risking a great deal, asking you to do this and watch over my home. I hope I've not misplaced my trust.'

'You have not, Your Grace. I'm just…well, I'm just surprised that's all,' Jon admitted.

Daenerys wiggled her eyebrows at him as she sat back wearily in her chair. 'Not as much as I am, believe me,' she said in a dry tone that made Jon smile, amused.

'So…you'll all leave tomorrow?' he asked.

'Yes, at dawn.'

'And…you'll leave two of your dragons here.'

Daenerys eyed him, amused by the barely-concealed fear in his voice. 'I've trained them well, they won't attack you in my absence,' she reassured him. 'And you'll continue to mine the Dragonglass while I'm away. The men I have already assigned to help you will remain here, so you needn't worry about that.'

'You won't need them yourself?'

'I think I'll have enough.'

'Fair enough.'

Daenerys watched Jon as he studied the intricate details of the map table. She wondered what he looked like with his hair loose and curly…not that she didn't mind the bun. She blinked and turned away. _Focus._

She tried to concentrate on the thought of the Lannister army, and Drogon and the Dothraki. She had no need to dread this attack; it would inevitably go her way. But still. She would rather not dwell on it. She would much rather think about something else. Someone else.

'Tell me about your family,' Daenerys said without thinking, turning back to Jon.

Jon looked bewildered. 'I…beg your pardon?'

'You know a great deal about mine, but I know very little of yours,' she prompted.

'Is that…important?' Jon asked, utterly perplexed.

'This isn't about a political alliance or any attack tragedy,' Daenerys said. 'I'm merely curious.'

But she wasn't fooling Jon. 'You're nervous,' he said, and Daenerys faltered. 'About the attack.'

Daenerys stared at him. 'You never seem to think about what you say, do you?' she muttered, unimpressed, but she was looking at him with exasperation rather than anger, which reassured Jon.

'I already told you,' Jon said, shaking his head and smiling at her. 'I'm not going to speak to you any differently just because you're a self-proclaimed queen.'

A silence fell between them as Daenerys considered him.

'I don't get nervous. But I would appreciate some other topic of discussion,' she admitted.

'Isn't Tyrion and his jokes a better way to distract yourself?'

'Perhaps. But I haven't chosen Tyrion as my company this evening, have I?' Daenerys pointed out.

Jon couldn't take his eyes off her. He wondered if she had intended her tone to sound half-playful, or if she realised that there was a hint of a half-smile on her face as she fixed him with an intrigued gaze. The sound of the wind and the waves outside in the starry night almost made it feel just as intimate as it had been in the caves this morning. Almost.

He sighed. 'You know about my father, Ned…so I won't relive that, if you don't mind. His wife, Catelyn…despised me. You can sort of understand it…I was the constant living reminder of her husband's infidelity. So…I never saw her as family, because she never treated me as such. She's dead now. Along with my brother Robb. He was a good man. We were…rivals in our own way. Not that I had much competition, after all, with me being a bastard and all. But we were also good friends.'

Jon smiled, lost in memories. Daenerys watched him attentively, fascinated and moved.

'Err, my other brothers, Bran and Rickon…I didn't know them quite as well, just because they were so much younger than me,' Jon went on, a sad expression on his face. 'The last time I saw Bran, he'd been pushed out of a tower window and broken his spine…and…he was asleep when I left for the Night's Watch. So I never got to say goodbye. And Rickon, he…the last time I saw him, he was murdered right in front of me by Ramsey Bolton, during the battle to win back Winterfell.'

'I'm so sorry,' Daenerys murmured, her soft tone stunning Jon.

'Thank you.'

'And your sisters?' she asked.

'Sana and Arya. Arya…she was my favourite,' Jon said, smiling automatically at the thought of her. 'She alone out of everyone always saw me as her true brother, from when we were little. I gave her a sword as a parting gift.'

Daenerys raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. 'A sword?!'

'She was…quite the fighter. Even as a little girl, she was keen to be more of a warrior than a princess,' Jon explained, but then his face fell. 'I…I don't know what happened to her. After our father's death, I…I don't know what happened. But Sansa…she's still alive. She's the Lady of Winterfell, and I'm sure she's doing a marvellous job of keeping everything in check.'

'What's she like?'

'Ah, Sansa, she's…strong, fierce. Stubborn. You two would get along,' Jon said, flashing Daenerys a sly smile. 'There's also Ghost.'

'Ghost?'

'My…direwolf.'

Daenerys smiled. 'You have a direwolf?'

'Hm,' Jon said, surprised by her almost-enthusiastic tone. 'You…you like dogs?'

'I do. You should have brought him here with you.'

'Ah, well I thought he'd be safer back in Winterfell. He's a good protector, he'll have assigned himself as Sansa's own personal bodyguard,' Jon said proudly. 'I should hope.'

'He sounds very loyal.'

'He is,' Jon said thoughtfully, and then after a short, comfortable silence, he frowned. 'I haven't talked about them all in such a long time.'

Daenerys followed as she leaned forward in her chair. 'I only really…grew up in the company of my one surviving brother Viserys. Ever since we were exiled as children, he…well, he was very abusive. Very. He was…perfectly happy to have me sold and raped just to ensure that he would win the Iron Throne. And he struck me himself, numerous times,' she said, without even a shudder, and Jon felt his blood boil at the mere thought of this sick man. 'So, eventually…my husband poured molten gold over his head. At least he died wearing a crown.'

Jon stared at her, horrified; he hadn't been expecting that. 'Oh.'

'Yes.'

'Err…I didn't know you were married,' Jon said, and to his mortification his voice broke slightly on the last word; he cleared his throat.

'Drogo died. As did our newborn son,' Daenerys replied. 'They were both killed at the hands of witchcraft, if you can believe it.'

'I've…come across stranger things,' Jon said awkwardly, looking away from her briefly as he grimaced, but then he turned back to her. 'I'm sorry for what you had to suffer.'

'I'm sorry for what you had to suffer as well,' Daenerys said, attempting a small, sympathetic smile at him.

Jon gazed back at her for a moment, and was suddenly met with an urge to beg her not to go tomorrow. He wanted her to stay here. He wanted to spend more time with her, to get to know her, the _real_ Daenerys Targaryen. He wanted more of this. Not sure what he was about to say, Jon moved his chair slightly closer to her but just as he opened his mouth, he noticed Daenerys look over his shoulder.

'Your Grace, your supper is in the – oh,' Missandei said, mortified, as Jon turned around to face her. 'Forgive me, I didn't know you had company.'

'It's no matter, Missandei,' Daenerys said, as she and Jon rose from their seats at once. 'Please come in.'

'Yes, I was…just leaving anyway,' Jon said, nodding awkwardly, and he looked at Daenerys again. 'I'll do as you have asked, Your Grace. I'm…very honoured.'

'Thank you,' she said gratefully, before turning back to her handmaiden. 'Missandei, I will be leaving Jon Snow in charge of Dragonstone when I depart tomorrow. He will be my representative during my absence.'

If Missandei was in any way shocked by her words, she kept it very well hidden in her neutral expression. 'Very good, Your Grace,' she said.

Daenerys took a step closer to Jon. 'Don't think this means that I trust you completely,' she said, raising her eyebrows slightly at him.

Jon felt his lips twitch. 'I wouldn't dream of it,' he said, before backing away. 'I'll bid you goodnight then, Your Grace.'

'Goodnight. Will I…see you in the morning?' Daenerys asked, trying to sound casual.

'Yes,' Jon replied, after a slight hesitation. 'Ser Davos and I will rise early to see you off.'

She nodded. 'I appreciate it. I'll see you then.'

The moment Jon had left the chamber and was out of earshot, Missandei turned questioningly to Daenerys with a raised eyebrows and an intrigued smile. But her flustered queen did nothing and simply turned away to hide her embarrassment, internally wondering why her heart was racing so much…and if the thought of Jon Snow would continue to deter it from slowing.

* * *

Jon and Ser Davos were already stood at the front castle doors when Daenerys and her entourage emerged, ready for departure. While Daenerys spoke to some of the Dothraki guards who were remaining behind, Tyrion sidled up to Jon.

'You must be in her good graces,' he said quietly, impressed. 'I must admit, I can't fathom how you've managed to make her confident enough to leave you in charge of Dragonstone.'

'Trust me, neither can I,' Jon muttered, still dazed.

Tyrion smirked, then looked between him and Davos. 'Look after Missandei.'

'Of course,' Davos promised.

'Then I will next be seeing you both in a few weeks, should all go well.'

Jon frowned. 'And if all doesn't go well?'

'Then I will see you on the other side,' Tyrion said, shrugging, and Jon smiled.

'Goodbye, Tyrion.'

Tyrion gave them both a final nod, before heading over to the doors, where he waited patiently for his queen. Daenerys soon finished speaking to the guards, and nodded politely at Davos before fixing her eyes onto Jon.

'I wish you good luck, Your Grace. Not that you'll need it,' Jon said, forcing a polite smile and nod.

Daenerys could tell that he still disapproved of her plan. But it was better than the alternative solution that she had immediately leapt to yesterday, and it was Jon himself she had to thank for that.

'Thank you,' she said, nodding at both Jon and Davos. 'I'll see you all shortly.'

She turned and walked towards the doors; she had already stepped outside when Jon called her back.

'Your Grace.'

She looked back at him inquisitively.

Jon swallowed. 'Be safe,' he said.

Daenerys stared at him, stunned, and it was then when she realised that his hardened expression wasn't that of his usual brooding look; it was filled with worry. Her gaze turned softer as she nodded at him, her lips parted, and then she blinked rapidly as she remembered her advisors surrounding her, looking back and forth between her and Jon in alarm. And then the moment had passed, and she had turned and was gone. Jon stayed staring at the open castle doors in silence for a short while; it was only when Davos cleared his throat exasperatedly that Jon remembered they had a task to be getting on with.

For the next few days, Jon, Davos and a group of Daenerys' soldiers who had remained set to work with mining the Dragonglass. It was a strenuous task, and Jon and Davos became only more grateful as time went on that Daenerys had provided them with a handful of strong, tough soldiers who didn't tire out so easily as they all hacked out the Dragonglass from the rock formation inside the caves. With each passing day, as the work grew more and more exhausting, Jon knew he ought to be focussing solely on how best to forge the Dragonglass into new weapons to fight the White Walkers…but he couldn't help dwelling over Daenerys.

He wasn't sure why he was so worried about her welfare on her mission against the Lannister army. He wasn't sure if he even liked her as a person. She had good intentions, yes, but he didn't agree with the way she went about some things. She was too arrogant, too hungry for power. Nothing attractive about her at all in that regard. And yet there was _something_ – and more than just her good looks. There was something intriguing and mysterious about her. Something unusual and kind and impressive that struck Jon deeply. And there was definitely a connection of some sort between them. He wished he could keep his thoughts to himself, but it was hard with Davos watching him like a hawk wherever they went. Indeed, the two comrades had been spending so much time in each other's company lately that all Davos had to do was see Jon's eyes glaze over while taking a break from the mining, and he would know exactly who Jon was thinking about.

It wasn't until a week after Daenerys' departure that Davos decided he could no longer avoid the subject with Jon.

'What do you think of her?' Davos asked casually, as the two men made their way down the stone path towards the shore to begin another days' work in the caves.

Jon closed his eyes; he didn't want to discuss this now. 'Who?'

Davos looked at him and sighed as they continued to walk down the steps. 'I believe you know of whom I speak,' he said exasperatedly.

'I think she has a good heart,' Jon replied, looking out at the waves crashing down onto the shore below.

'A good heart?' Davos said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. 'I've noticed you staring at her good heart.'

Jon frowned irritably, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. He knew it had been foolish of him to think he could get away with his burgeoning attraction to Daenerys without Davos noticing. And he couldn't deny it. But he couldn't encourage the subject either.

'There's no time for that,' Jon said wearily, his tone firm and dismissive, while Davos chuckled beside him. 'I saw the Night King, Davos, I looked into his eyes. How many men do we have in the north to fight him? Ten thousand? Less?'

'Fewer,' Davos corrected him.

'What?' Jon said, frowning, but Davos was preoccupied by the sight of Missandei, who was stood along the path looking out at the ocean.

'Speaking of good hearts, Missandei of Naath,' Davos greeted enthusiastically.

Missandei turned to look at them. 'Ser Davos, Lord Snow,' she said, nodding politely at them.

'King Snow, isn't it? No?' Davos said, frowning at Jon. 'That doesn't sound right. King _Jon_?'

Jon eyed him wearily. 'It doesn't matter,' he muttered.

'Forgive me, but may I ask a question?' Missandei asked Jon.

'Of course,' Jon replied.

'Your name is Jon Snow, but your father's name was Ned Stark?' Missandei said unsurely, evidently confused.

'I'm a bastard,' Jon said, but Missandei continued to look at him questioningly, so he elaborated. 'My mother and father weren't married.'

'Is the custom different in Naath?' Davos asked, curious.

'We don't have _marriage_ in Naath so the concept of a bastard doesn't exist,' Missandei explained, looking at Jon with intrigue.

'The sounds…liberating,' Davos said hopefully, catching Jon's eye; Jon looked at him for a moment, exasperated, then turned back to Missandei.

'Why did you leave your homeland?' he asked her.

'I was stolen away by slavers,' Missandei replied.

'I'm sorry.'

'If I may, how did a slave girl come to advise Daenerys Targaryen?' Davos asked, fascinated.

'She bought me from my master and set me free,' Missandei replied, a soft smile on her face; Jon rose his head, his interest perked slightly as he watched Missandei carefully…of course she would only have more tales of Daenerys' compassion to further enforce his feelings.

'That was good of her. Of course you're serving _her_ now, aren't you?' Davos pointed out.

Missandei's smile faded; she clearly did not appreciate the insinuation. 'I serve my queen because I _want_ to serve my queen,' she said. 'Because I believe in her.'

Jon tilted his head at her. 'And if you wanted to sail home to Naath tomorrow…?'

'Then she would give me a ship and wish me good fortune,' Missandei said calmly.

Jon gazed at her, bemused. 'You believe that?'

He didn't like to be sceptical, but he had heard the way Daenerys talked, quite a few times now. She commanded fealty from practically anyone she came across. He couldn't imagine her just letting her handmaiden leave without angry protest. Missandei looked hurt, but mostly insulted, by Jon's response.

'I know it,' she said firmly, and she frowned at him. 'All of us who came with her from Essos – we believe in her. She's not our queen because she's the daughter of some king we never knew. She's the queen we chose.'

There was a short silence as Jon simply stared at Missandei, reading the sincerity in her tone and expression.

'Will you forgive me if I switch sides?' Davos said to Jon jokingly.

Jon looked at Davos but could come up with no response. He was stunned by Missandei's words, by her faith in Daenerys. Perhaps Missandei was right, and Daenerys wasn't just a self-proclaimed queen driven by a need for power. She was kind. She was good. And this revelation only made Jon's tangled web of feelings even more dangerous. He couldn't let a romantic infatuation get in the way of his fight against the Army of the Dead.

But no matter how much he tried to drive this thought homeward over the next few days, his mind couldn't help drifting over to Daenerys. Where could she be now? Had the attack taken place already? Was she all right? He was surprised by how concerned he was for her safety, despite having been reassured that she had always succeeded on her missions when atop the dragon with whom she shared the deepest connection, Drogon. Jon hoped she would be successful this time again. He longed to see her. Indeed, the look on her face when he had told her to 'be safe', just before she had left Dragonstone, was imprinted on his mind. It hadn't been the look of a queen, but of a woman. A deeply intrigued woman. And it was the vivid memory of this look on her oh-so-perfect face that made Jon realise that he was completely smitten with Daenerys Targaryen.


	6. The Cliffs of Dragonstone

**Based on events during Episode 5 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Another week passed, during which Jon tirelessly supervised the transportation of Dragonglass blocks and the forging of the first weapons, while also greeting the remaining survivors who had returned from the Greyjoy attack. It was on one blustery morning as Jon was taking a walk along the edge of the cliffs, his thoughts consumed with a certain platinum-haired woman, when he saw the ships approach Dragonstone down below on the ocean. The Dothraki had returned. The attack was already over. And sure enough, to Jon's relief and awe…there soon came the familiar cry of a dragon.

He looked up in astonishment and watched as Drogon appeared from amongst the clouds, and flew over towards the cliff. Even from this distance, he could make out the silver hair of Daenerys riding on the humungous dragons' back; the sight stunned Jon.

Daenerys was in an unusually good mood as she flew above the cliff and guided Drogon downwards to land atop the windy meadow. Led by herself riding Drogon, the Dothraki cavalry had caught the Lannister army by surprise and together they had managed to decimate and capture its remaining forces. It had been an overwhelming success. And she had been very much looking forward to informing Jon Snow of her triumph while she had been away; just seeing him now stood on the cliff in that great big billowing fur cape of his made her smile.

Drogon landed with a monstrous thump of his claws, making the ground beneath Jon's feet shake. Daenerys steadied herself slightly but before she could do anything else, Drogon had already caught sight of Jon, standing not far from them looking mesmerized, and had begun to charge towards him. Jon froze and looked up, alarmed, as Drogon opened his jaws let out an almighty roar in Jon's face; the force of it nearly knocked him over backwards. He tried to glance up at Daenerys, to see if she had control of her dragon, but it was hard to see her from this vantage point; he was directly beneath Drogon.

Slowly but surely, Drogon then began to creep closer towards Jon, his nostrils flaring threateningly. Jon was determined to stay stood where he was – not that he was sure he could have moved even if he'd wanted to – and tried to keep his expression neutral as Drogon bared his sharp teeth. The dragon lowered its head slightly; Jon knew he could look up at Daenerys now, but he was fixated on the dragon head that was several times bigger than his whole body, trying to decide what to make of him. Friend? Foe? Meal?

Cautious and slightly panicked, Daenerys peered over Drogon's scales and watched warily as Drogon continued to approach Jon. She was confused – and perhaps even a little disappointed – to see that Jon didn't seem even remotely scared or threatened; nervous though he was, he didn't back away. In fact, he even took a tentative step forward.

Drogon's head moved closer to Jon, merely inches from him now, and put his eyes level with Jon. Daenerys watched with interest. She was sure – _mostly_ sure – that Drogon would not fatally wound Jon. But that didn't stop her worrying; her hands hovered over Drogon's horns, preparing to pull him away, and she felt herself begin to panic slightly as she lost sight of Jon for a few moments, when Drogon's neck briefly rose up, blocking her view.

Jon wanted to run or shrink away, but he didn't. Instead, he removed his glove with a shaking hand, and slowly, evenly, reached a hand towards Drogon. Jon stepped forward to meet Drogon. Drogon's lips curled back, revealing his glistening fangs, and emitted a lower growl. But Jon kept coming. Daenerys' eyes widened; this was not what she had expected. She was astonished. Drogon and Jon continued to slowly close the distance between them, and then, soon enough, Jon was in reach. He extended his arm; Drogon warily lowered his head to allow Jon to touch him…and then Jon lay his hand on Drogon's snout, alongside his nostril. After a still moment, Drogon sniffed; Jon tensed, but didn't remove his hand. Drogon sniffed again, and his lips relaxed, covering his teeth once again.

Jon let out a sigh of relief as he stroked Drogon's muzzle. The dragon seemed perfectly content now. Jon was completely in awe of the amazing creature before him, but not quite as amazed as Daenerys was of Jon himself. Intrigued and completely caught off guard, she tilted her head as she gazed down at Jon's dazed expression. She found herself deeply affected by the delightful miracle that she was seeing before her; Drogon often had an aggressive personality, especially towards strangers, but she could feel him relaxing beneath her at Jon's gentle, appreciative touch. She didn't understand – what did Drogon see in this man? What was the connection?

Daenerys found herself utterly beguiled as she watched the two share a private moment. Jon Snow had never encountered dragons before, and yet he had managed to walk right up to Drogon, who had smelt him and deemed him acceptable; a rarity in Daenerys' experience. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. She wasn't entirely sure if she could even believe what she was seeing. The attractive sight of Jon stroking Drogon's snout like that was stirring something inside her…a feeling that scared her. It only peaked her interest in this man even more.

Once he had finished stroking Drogon, Jon slowly withdrew his arm, his heart racing from the thrill of what had just happened, and took a step back. His eyes then turned to the Mother of Dragons herself as she climbed down Drogon's wing gracefully and stepped down from her mount, unable to keep her surprised expression off her face. Once she was steady on the ground, Drogon turned and padded away. At a safe distance, he took flight, his wings beating heavily against the ferocious wind as he soared above to join his two brothers circling the castle.

Daenerys walked up to Jon as he fidgeted nervously with the glove he was struggling to put back on his hand, which was still shaking. She barely hid her smile as she watched him. She was impressed with Jon, but not about to tell him so.

Once she reached him, she turned back to watch her dragons. 'They're beautiful, aren't they?' she said, smiling fondly.

Jon chuckled softly as he put his glove back on. 'That wasn't the word I was thinking of…'

He trailed off awkwardly to see that Daenerys was not smiling in return; indeed, she was staring at him with an indignant, betrayed expression as if he'd caused her some great personal offence. The stony look was almost enough to make Jon fear for his life. Alarmed, he tried to backtrack.

'But, yes, they are,' he said hastily, and he looked back up at the dragons, utterly spellbound. 'Gorgeous beasts.'

'They're not beasts to me. No matter how big they get, how terrifying to everyone else,' Daenerys said, turning back to watch them as well as they flew over the castle, singing to each other. 'They're my children.'

Jon watched Daenerys longingly as she watched the dragons, completely mesmerized. He really had never met anyone like her before; everything she did or said just left him breathless. Even the mere sight of her standing there, beautiful and proud as she gazed up at her dragons, was enough to render him completely stunned. He wished he could keep looking at her, and forget about the world events weighing on his soul. But that just wasn't the kind of man he was.

Suddenly he could hear Davos's amused voice in his ear. _'A good heart? I've noticed you staring at her good heart.'_

Reluctantly, Jon averted his gaze from Daenerys. 'You weren't gone long,' he noted, an apprehensive tone to his voice.

Daenerys turned back to Jon, her long impressive braid swaying in the wind. 'No,' she said quietly.

'And?'

Daenerys hesitated. 'And I have fewer enemies today than I did yesterday,' she replied.

It was good news for her – she had won the battle, and had shown the Lannisters that she was one step ahead in their game – but the way Jon paused and frowned, unable to say anything, troubled her. This irritated her; why should she be so affected by what he thought?

'You're not sure how you feel about that,' Daenerys noted, looking away from him.

'No, I'm not,' Jon admitted heavily.

'How many men did your army kill taking Winterfell back from the Boltons?' Daenerys asked, as she began walking towards the castle.

'Thousands,' Jon replied, his tone grim, as he walked alongside her.

'We both want to help people. We can only help them from a position of strength,' Daenerys said. 'Sometimes strength is terrible.'

As much as Jon would have liked to argue, it would have been hypocrisy for him to do so. Instead they walked for a moment in silence, both of them noting the new element of familiarity between them, simply in how they felt more comfortable speaking openly to each other. Taking a curious glance at the melancholy Northerner, Daenerys decided to take advantage of this; she reached out her hand and held his arm, bringing them both to a stop. Jon's lips parted, stunned by her casual touch.

'When you first came here,' Daenerys said, watching him carefully, 'Ser Davos said you took a knife in the heart for your people.'

Jon lowered his eyes briefly, before forcing a smile. 'Ser Davos gets carried away,' he said.

Daenerys tilted her head at him sceptically. He was deflecting.

'So it was a figure of speech?' she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Jon's face fell as he realised he hadn't fooled her. He gazed back at her, unable to say anything. He tried opening his mouth to say something but no words came out; he was still unsure whether or not he wanted to broach this subject with her. He looked away to avoid the searching look in her eyes, and it was then when he saw a posse of Dothraki guards approaching, led by Qhono.

Qhono spoke briefly in Dothraki to Daenerys as they approached, and then the guards stepped aside to reveal a middle-aged man stood behind them, wrapped in a cloak. Jon glanced at Daenerys, whose lips had parted in shock, and he saw a flicker of about a dozen emotions whirl through her eyes as she stared at her new visitor. Her eyes began to well up and she smiled in wonder as she replied to the guards in their language. The Dothraki allowed the man to step forward, and he sunk to one knee before his queen.

'Your Grace,' the man said, and he said the words as if they were a declaration of love. Perhaps they were.

Jon frowned down at the man, a little irritated by the way Daenerys reciprocated his devoted gaze. Who was he to her? Why did she look so dazed and happy by his arrival?

Meanwhile, Daenerys was completely oblivious to Jon's disapproval; she was too preoccupied drinking in the sight of the man knelt before her. She had not expected to see Jorah Mormont alive again. She blinked away tears as she signalled for her oldest surviving friend to rise to his feet. He cast Jon a suspicious glance; why did he always find some younger, handsome man in her company? It seemed that he and the Dothraki had disturbed an almost intimate moment between the two. The unimpressed look on Jorah's face left Daenerys slightly flustered, as she became uncomfortably aware of how she and Jon must have looked to a third party, standing close together in intense conversation.

'Jon Snow, this is Ser Jorah Mormont,' Daenerys introduced, unable to stop smiling as she gazed fondly at Jorah. 'An old friend.'

'I served with your father. He was a great man,' Jon said politely, and Jorah bowed his head.

'You look strong. You found a cure?' Daenerys asked Jorah hopefully.

'I wouldn't be here if I hadn't,' Jorah replied, and she smiled in relief. 'I return to your service, my Queen. If you'll have me,' he added.

Daenerys' lips trembled as she smiled at him. 'It would be my honour.'

Jon glanced at her; he had never heard her speak with such affection, nor gaze at anyone the way she did Jorah. He watched, stunned, as Daenerys then stepped forward and reached out tentatively with her arms towards Jorah. Jorah leant down slightly, and she wrapped her arms around him in a tender hug.

The moment they embraced, Jon felt an odd sort of rage rise up inside him. Watching the two of them now, he felt sick to the very pit of his stomach. He wished he could turn or walk away, but that would be rude. And petty. After all, he had no right to be irritated. Yes, she'd had an apparently _very_ close relationship with this man in the past, but what did that matter when it came to fighting the White Walkers, really? Of course, he knew deep down that this wasn't just about the war against the dead. This had turned into something more. So much more.

As Daenerys gently released her hold of him and withdrew her arms, Jorah looked over her shoulder and his eyes met Jon's. Jon was aware that he was scowling at him, but he couldn't seem able to control his expression. Jealousy was not an emotion Jon experienced often, and he certainly didn't like it. It bothered him how intimidated he felt by this stranger. And yet there was something strangely reassuring about the fact that it was clear, from the look in Jorah's eyes, that he was feeling exactly the same way about Jon.

'You have journeyed far. You must be famished. And exhausted,' Daenerys said, once she had stepped back from Jorah. 'I'll ask Missandei to have one of the chambers set up for you.'

Jorah nodded gratefully. 'That would be very much appreciated.'

Daenerys then spoke to Qhono in Dothraki again; the guards turned to escort Jorah away.

'I'll speak to you inside, once you have been fed and rested,' Daenerys promised him.

Jorah nodded and, giving Jon another surreptitious glance, turned and went with the Dothraki towards the castle. Jon watched him go. He was envious of the man. He hoped that one day Daenerys would grow fond enough of him to look at him and hold him the way she had Jorah.

'Is everything all right?'

Jon turned; Daenerys was watching him curiously.

'Yes. Of course,' Jon replied, clearing his throat, and he indicated Jorah's departing figure. 'He's been in your service before?'

Daenerys nodded. 'I wouldn't be where I am today without Ser Jorah. I owe him a great deal,' she said, and she frowned curiously at Jon when he didn't respond. 'He…he _will_ respect you as King in the North, if that is what you're worried about…'

'No, I'm not, it's not that, I…' But Jon trailed off, embarrassed with himself, and pulled an awkward smile. 'It's nothing, Your Grace.'

A silence fell between them. The battering wind was quite chilly, but Daenerys felt strangely warm, stood up here on the cliffs so close to Jon Snow. She'd noticed the strange stiffness in the way he and Jorah had looked at and addressed each other, but she knew, no matter how much she hoped, that Jon would not discuss it, whatever it had been about. She attempted a feeble smile at Jon as he cast her an awkward glance; he couldn't help wondering if there was a reason why Daenerys had kept them both behind rather than go to the castle straight away with Ser Jorah. A loud cry from Drogon flying ahead in the distance broke the spell between them, and Jon's head jerked up. Daenerys gazed at him as he watched her dragon soar above them, wearing, not a look of fear, but a mesmerized smile on his face.

'He's never behaved like that, you know. Drogon,' Daenerys said softly, and Jon looked at her. 'He doesn't normally let strangers get anywhere close to him, let alone touch him.'

Jon tilted his head at her. 'Oh, I'm a stranger, am I?'

'W-well…no,' Daenerys said, slightly flustered. 'But…to my dragons-'

'I'm sorry, Your Grace,' Jon said, chuckling. 'That was…a poor attempt at a joke.'

'Oh, I see,' Daenerys said, laughing softly and turning away briefly to hide her embarrassment. 'You didn't run. From Drogon.'

Jon hesitated and then shrugged. 'Didn't think I'd get very far.'

Daenerys stared at him for a moment and then her face broke out in an amused smile that made Jon's heart soar. She then gestured for them to head back to the castle, and began leading the way along the moor.

'Are you going to tell me what happened then? With the Lannister army?' Jon asked, as he walked alongside her.

'There isn't much to tell, really.'

Jon picked up on her tone. 'Not much to tell that I'd like, you mean.'

'Perhaps,' Daenerys admitted. 'We caught them by surprise. We won the battle. And…many former Lannister loyalists lined up behind their rightful queen.'

Jon smiled slyly. Was that a hint?

'I see,' he said, watching the dragons soar in the air above them.

Daenerys sighed as she watched him. 'I know what you think. I remember what you said the night before I left. But I believe they will fight for me, now they have pledged their fealty. And besides, you were right – I have dragons. Let's be honest, if this whole…Army of the Dead is as flammable as you say, then…whoever has the fire-breathing dragons should probably be on the Iron Throne, should they not?' she pointed out.

Jon laughed. 'Are you making jokes now as well?'

'Well, attempting to, maybe,' Daenerys said grudgingly, but the fact that she had made Jon Snow laugh was making it extremely hard not to drop her serious persona and give in to her urge to smile giddily. 'I suppose there's no harm in trying to make light of a…rather horrendous situation, is there?'

'No, I suppose there isn't. But…joke or not…does this mean you've changed your mind while you've been away? You believe me about the White Walkers?' Jon asked, eyeing her curiously.

Daenerys hesitated before answering. 'I believe that you're an honest man. And I…I trust you,' she said sincerely; the warmth in her words stunned Jon so much that when he looked at her with such an intense gaze, she had to turn away. 'I shouldn't but I do.'

'That means a great deal, Your Grace,' Jon said, humbled.

'And what about you?' Daenerys asked. 'Do you trust me, and my plans for the people of Westeros?'

'I do,' Jon replied, nodding.

'May I ask why?'

'You care about the welfare and respect of people you don't know,' Jon said simply.

'As do you.'

Jon stopped walking and looked at her, although her gaze caught him off guard slightly. Her eyes were full of intrigue, and something else…was it affection?

'I'm guessing you're trying to make some sort of point. Is this where you ask me to bend the knee again?' Jon asked.

Daenerys smiled back at him and shook her head. She wasn't going to ask him that again, not now. Maybe not ever. Their newfound respect for each other wasn't worth risking for that.

'I must go and see Missandei,' she said, turning back to walk towards the castle. 'How is she?'

'Very well, Your Grace.'

'Good. Will you and Ser Davos join us for supper this evening?' Daenerys asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Jon tilted his head at her, surprised. 'Really? You'd like us to?'

'Very much,' Daenerys said, as they reached the castle entrance.

'Then…we would consider it an honour, Your Grace,' Jon said gratefully.

Daenerys nodded back at him. He was hovering towards the stone path; he would no doubt be itching to head down the steps to join Ser Davos in the caves and continue mining the Dragonglass.

'I'll see you later for supper then,' she said; Jon nodded at her, and she turned to head into the castle.

She had only walked a few steps when Jon called over to her. 'So, err…if you trust me, does this mean I'll be allowed to have my sword back soon?'

Daenerys turned around. It was hard to read him; his expression looked both hopeful and teasing. Her lips twitched.

'Perhaps. I'm not sure we're quite there yet,' Daenerys said, and she turned around and walked into the castle, unable to stop smiling.

Jon chuckled softly to himself as he watched her go, but then his face slowly fell; the way she had smirked at him before heading into the castle had done unnerving things to his heart rate. 'Oh, shit,' he muttered.

* * *

It had not gone unnoticed by the many people currently residing in the castle of Dragonstone that Jon and Daenerys had moved past their initial wariness and hostility, and were instead beginning to warm to each other. Their time apart over the past few weeks seemed only to have increased their fondness for the other. Indeed, both Ser Davos and Missandei believed that their king and queen were becoming quite smitten with each other, without them even knowing it themselves, although of course no one dared speak about it.

Davos and Missandei's suspicions only became further enforced over the course of their supper that night. Jon and Daenerys barely spoke directly to each other across the table; Ser Jorah and Tyrion provided most of the conversation while they ate. And yet no one could miss the longing looks Jon and Daenerys exchanged, or the way Daenerys had become so much more open to Jon and his views, as if she had accepted that the threat of the Night King was indeed something to worry about.

While he navigated the discussion, Tyrion watched Jon and Daenerys carefully from the other end of the table. He had noticed that Daenerys was being considerably more transparent with her attraction simply from the way she was looking at Jon – her wide eyes and bewitching gaze were hard for any man to resist, after all – whereas Jon seemed determined to put whatever he was feeling on lockdown. He clearly did not want to be distracted by his goal of saving the North, and Tyrion respected him for it. Although he wasn't sure how long Jon's restrain would last.

It troubled Tyrion deeply that night, and he was kept awake by thoughts of what could potentially happen if Jon and Daenerys were to take their relationship one step too far to call it just political. He spent the restful hours in his chamber reflecting on them both, on whether he could turn this certain complication around so that it would actually benefit their cause.

Both Jon and Daenerys had suffered long arduous journeys to get to where they were today, and had somehow manoeuvred their way through the difficulties of power while maintaining their sense of justice, facing many hard decisions along the way as they had ascended into leadership roles. They were now in the highest positions of power that they had ever been, having accomplished extraordinary things but with different styles of leadership. While Daenerys commanded admiration from her fierceness, her dragons and her unrestrained strength, Jon did so with solemn humility and selflessness. But, despite these differences, what ultimately made them the same was their sense of morality, and their main goal: to protect the common folk, whose plight had been completely overlooked by the high lords and ladies of Westeros.

The two of them had come together as equal opposites to unite and bring balance to Westeros, so in some ways, it was a perfect match. Even a good political strategy. And yet still, Tyrion couldn't help feeling that these were dangerous waters. The consequences of a forbidden romance between two enemies-turned-allies could be disastrous for their war against Cersei. Then again, perhaps Tyrion didn't have to worry at all. Perhaps they were both in denial of the blindingly obvious infatuation between the two of them, and so would keep their relationship strictly political and nothing more. Or was it too late for that?

The next morning, Tyrion arrived at the chamber of the painted table at the same time as Missandei, who was carrying a scroll in her hand. Daenerys was already seated in her chair at the end of the table, and greeted them both softly.

'You have something for me, Missandei?' Daenerys asked, looking up briefly.

'Yes, Your Grace, a raven has arrived from Winterfell,' Missandei said, holding out the scroll in her hand.

Daenerys was tempted to walk over and read it herself, but then realised it was not her place to do that. 'Then…please fetch Lord Snow,' she said. 'He should join us in today's session.'

'But…Your Grace, Jon Snow hasn't done that before, he's never even attended a small war council in his life, he'll be preparing to go to the caves-' Tyrion protested, but Daenerys interrupted him firmly.

'He is my ally. This message from Winterfell will undoubtedly concern him. Besides, I would like him here from now on for all our council meetings. Him and Ser Davos,' Daenerys said decisively, nodding at Missandei.

Missandei bowed her head. 'As you wish, Your Grace,' she said gently; she caught Tyrion's eye before departing the chamber.

The silence that fell the moment she had left didn't last too long; Daenerys found Tyrion's awkward clicking of his tongue too infuriating to ignore.

'Is there something you'd like to say, Tyrion?' Daenerys asked sharply.

Tyrion looked down. 'Only that I'm worried that Jon Snow's presence here will not enable you to think clearly on the task at hand,' he said quietly.

'I resent that insinuation,' Daenerys snapped, eyeing him in distaste, and she rose to her feet. 'I really had hoped you wouldn't stoop low enough to think such a thing of me. Are you saying you think I'm easily distracted? A leader who loses focus simply because some other leader is here as well?'

'No, of course I'm not saying that,' Tyrion said at once, looking almost afraid as he approached the table. 'I'm just…advising you to tread carefully, that's all, Your Grace. After all, he's not just 'some other leader' to you now, is he?'

Daenerys stared at him for a moment, her heart thumping; was it really _that_ obvious? 'No, he's an ally. Like I said,' she said forcefully, and with a sigh she turned to face out of the open archways; she could see her dragons flying together over the ocean. 'You know he had a moment with Drogon yesterday?'

'A moment?' Tyrion prompted, intrigued.

'Yes. They…bonded? I'm not sure…he stroked Drogon,' Daenerys said, still dazed by the memory of it.

Tyrion was incredulous. 'And Drogon _let_ him?'

'Yes. He approached him! It was very odd,' Daenerys said thoughtfully, still gazing out at the ocean.

'And very alluring to see, I'm sure,' Tyrion muttered, his lips twitching.

Daenerys rounded on him, her eyebrows raised. 'Stop it.'

Tyrion held up his hands innocently and said no more on the matter.

Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Daenerys turned her back to him and stared out at her dragons without really seeing them. She needed to be more careful in the future. She needed to keep whatever this was that she was feeling for Jon hidden. Otherwise she would be mocked and belittled, and so would Jon. And he'd most likely had enough of that, just as she had. Perhaps she should distance herself from him. It would no doubt confuse Jon, but it was the only way for their alliance to remain strictly political…even if it hurt him. She only hoped dearly that this raven from Winterfell brought good news for him.


	7. Farewell, Jon

**Based on events during Episode 5 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Jon was silent for a moment once he had finished reading the scroll in his hands. He eventually lowered the scroll, his expression frozen in disbelief.

'I thought Arya was dead. I thought Bran was dead,' he said blankly, and his voice shook slightly.

'I'm happy for you,' Daenerys said from the head of the map table, but then she frowned as he continued to look down solemnly at the scroll. 'You don't look happy.'

Jon looked up. He had almost forgotten that the others were in the room for this meeting; Tyrion and Jorah stood on either side of Daenerys, and Varys sat along the table. They were all watching Jon intently, as was Davos stood beside him.

'Bran saw the Night King and his army marching towards Eastwatch,' Jon said heavily, and he slammed the scroll down on the table. 'If they make it past the Wall-'

'The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years,' Varys pointed out. 'Presumably-'

'I need to go home,' Jon interrupted firmly, his voice ringing out.

Daenerys looked at him in protest. 'You said you don't have enough men,' she said.

'We'll fight with the men we have,' Jon said hopelessly, and he raised his eyebrows at her. 'Unless you'll join us.'

'And give the country to Cersei?' Daenerys said, eyeing him sceptically, and she indicated the map on the table. 'As soon as I march away she marches in.'

Tyrion had been pondering a solution to this problem since Jon had first posed it. Now, a possibility presented itself. 'Perhaps not.'

They all looked at him to elaborate.

'Cersei thinks the Army of the Dead is nothing but a story, made up by wet nurses to frighten children,' Tyrion said, and he paused. 'What if we prove her wrong?'

Daenerys stared at Tyrion incredulously.

'I don't think she'll come to see the dead at my invitation,' Jon said dryly, chuckling.

Tyrion walked around the table towards Jon. 'So bring the dead to her,' he suggested.

Jon frowned, perplexed.

'I thought that was what we were trying to avoid,' Daenerys said.

'We don't have to bring the whole army,' Tyrion said. 'Only one soldier.'

Davos turned bewilderedly to Jon. 'Is that possible?'

Slowly, Jon nodded as he started to understand Tyrion's plan. 'The first wight I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from beyond the Wall,' Jon replied.

'Bring one of these things down to King's Landing and show her the truth,' Tyrion urged.

Jon's eyes were wide with hope, desperate to believe that Tyrion's confidence in this reckless plan might not be misplaced. He glanced over at Daenerys, whose eyes were fixed only on him. Before they could do or say anything to each other, however, Varys then spoke up.

'Anything you bring back will be useless unless Cersei grants us an audience and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we set foot in the capital.'

'The only person she listens to is Jaime,' Tyrion muttered, and he nodded heavily. 'He might listen to me.'

He turned hopefully to Daenerys, who looked incredulous. 'And how would you get into King's Landing?' she asked, indicating the map.

Slowly, everyone turned expectantly to Davos. With a sigh, Davos looked to Jon, who nodded.

'I can smuggle you in,' Davos replied wearily. 'But if the Goldcloaks were to recognize you, I'm warning you, I'm not a fighter.'

'Well, it will all be for nothing if we don't _have_ one of these dead men,' Daenerys pointed out, barely concealing her cynical tone.

'Fair point. How do you propose to find one?' Varys asked.

Jon paused and stared heavily at the ground defeatedly. No one had a good answer to this question. Until Ser Jorah broke the silence.

'With the Queen's permission I'll go north and take one.'

Daenerys turned in her seat to look up at Jorah in protest. This was the first thing Jorah had said in the entire meeting, and it had taken everyone by surprise, but no one more so than Daenerys. She hadn't sent him to find a cure just so she could send him right back out to die. This was a pointless, reckless plan after all. How could she allow her dear friend to do such a thing?

Jorah lowered his voice to speak to Daenerys softly, touched by her concern. 'You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you,' he said. 'Allow me to serve you.'

Jon tore his eyes off Daenerys, having given up on trying to read the emotions concealed behind that beautiful face of hers as she looked up at Jorah. 'The free folk will help us,' he said to Jorah, as Daenerys turned heavily back to the table. 'They know the real north better than anyone.'

'They won't follow Ser Jorah,' Davos said.

'They won't have to.'

Daenerys was jolted by Jon's words. In fact, the tone in his voice and the way he gazed sorrowfully at her was enough to melt the Queen's mask away. She had always tried so hard to maintain a serious, neutral persona…to be professional and calm and guarded…but suddenly all she could see was Jon stood at the other end of the table, volunteering for what was essentially a suicide mission, and she felt her stomach sink as she realised just how much she cared for this man. Jon watched as Daenerys' eyebrows flickered up and her lips parted; the despairing look in her eyes alone was enough for him to know what she was thinking.

_No. Please don't go._

Jon gazed longingly back at her as she breathed deeply, trying to convey without words how sorry he was. Her expression shook him deeply to his very core; he had not expected her to be so transparently upset by his decision. But he had no choice. He had to go.

'You can't lead a raid beyond the Wall,' Davos protested, as Jon averted his gaze from Daenerys'. 'You're not in the Night's Watch anymore, you're _King_ in the North!'

'I'm the only one here whose fought them,' Jon pointed out. 'I'm the only one here who knows them.'

As Jon spoke, Jorah glanced down at Daenerys. She was gazing imploringly at Jon with wide, beseeching eyes, and was breathing rather shakily. In that moment she looked like a young, scared girl. And Jorah knew then that she was utterly besotted with this man.

Daenerys blinked rather rapidly as she tried to recover her composure, and she gulped. 'I haven't given you permission to leave,' she said to Jon, her tone softer than what anyone in the room might have expected.

Her words had the undertone of a wife trying to keep her husband from venturing into harm's way, and yet Daenerys didn't care. She knew it was a half-hearted attempt at preventing his departure, but still, she had to try. Before, she would have forcefully stopped him from leaving. But things had changed drastically between them now. There was an open respect there. And an open affection that was not lost on the others assembled in the chamber; it was particularly clear to Tyrion that his queen could not face the idea of Jon leaving her to go on this dangerous task, and it only made him more concerned for the fight ahead.

Jon hesitated before turning back to face Daenerys, wearing a heavy expression. 'With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission,' he said, bluntly and firmly. 'I am a king.'

His words sent tingles running down Daenerys' spine as she gazed fiercely back at him, a strange part of her almost pleased by his response.

'And I came here knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive,' Jon went on. 'I put my trust in you – a stranger…because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for _all_ our people.'

Daenerys couldn't take her eyes off him as he spoke imploringly to her. She was mesmerised. He was treating her as an equal. He was treating her with respect. And he was finally treating himself with the merit that he deserved. If it weren't for the seriousness and impending doom of the situation, Daenerys might have almost smiled.

'Now I'm asking you,' Jon said, his eyes burning into Daenerys', 'to trust in a stranger. Because it's our best chance.'

Daenerys concentrated on breathing deeply and remaining calm as she looked back into Jon's eyes, reading the determination there. He wasn't going to back down, she knew that. And she also knew that what he had said were not meaningless words; she remembered from the stories that Ser Davos had told her upon their initial arrival that Jon had repeatedly demonstrated his valour with his sometimes bafflingly stupid self-sacrificing behaviour. She could see the length he was willing to go for others. She could see what kind of king he was; one willing to risk his life for a cause he believed in. And she respected it. She did not want him to go, but she knew that he would be leaving anyway, no matter what she said. And it only made her more attracted to him.

Swallowing, she glanced at Tyrion. He was looking at her earnestly, wordlessly pleading with her to overlook her burgeoning feelings for this man in order for her to give the go-ahead. After a slight pause, Daenerys then turned back and reluctantly nodded her head at Jon in agreement.

Jon nodded back gratefully and turned back to everyone in the chamber, all of whom looked relieved – albeit a little trepidatious – that a decision had finally been reached on how next to proceed.

Daenerys felt her fingers begin to twitch agitatedly. _What have I done?_

She then rose to her feet. 'Forgive me, I'm going to retire for a short break,' she said, and Jon frowned at her; he didn't miss the way her voice shook slightly. 'You may begin plans for the expedition to Eastwatch while I'm gone.'

'Well, it will take us a number of days to gather the weapons we'll need and-'

'Whatever time you need,' Daenerys interrupted Jon with a forced smile, and she walked around the table to leave the chamber. 'Let me know how I can be of assistance. I'll return shortly.'

She turned away to avoid Jon's searching gaze, determined for none of them to see how unsteady and afraid she was at what she had just agreed to, and quickly left the room. She needed to get away. She needed to get Jon out of her sight and her mind. What was happening to her?

Daenerys had only walked a few steps into the audience chamber when she heard someone follow her out.

'Your Grace?'

Daenerys paused halfway down the steps, and took a deep breath as she tried to recover her expression into something a little less full of anguish and a little more neutral. She then turned around to face Jon, stood not too far away from the throne. He looked equally as miserable as she felt about what had just transpired in the chamber of the painted table.

She swallowed and raised her eyebrows slightly at him. 'Yes?'

'I know you don't approve. And I don't blame you,' Jon said heavily, walking down the steps towards her. 'But I could really do with your support in this.'

'And you have it,' Daenerys replied, her voice gentle as she closed the distance between them. 'You'll always have it.'

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Jon nodded, a small smile on his face. 'Thank you, Your Grace.'

Daenerys hesitated, met with an urge to say something more, but instead simply nodded and turned to walk away. She had only walked down one step when Jon reached out and gently held her wrist to stop her. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of her hand as he pulled her back towards him; a pleasant shiver ran through them both at their touch, and Jon held her gaze with his.

'I mean it,' he said softly, his eyes intense and smouldering. 'Thank you.'

Daenerys' lips parted as she gazed back at him, completely thrown by the look in his wide, brooding eyes. He watched as her pupils dilated, and, slightly shocked, released his hold of her. Flustered, Daenerys gave him a shaky nod and then turned and hurried away down the steps and out of the audience chamber; Jon watched her go.

The moment the Dothraki guards had closed the chamber doors behind her, Daenerys let out a deep breath that she had been holding in since Jon had closed his fingers around her wrist. She walked outside of the castle in a daze, completely stunned by the conflicting feelings raging within her. It was a relief to be out on the cliffs, watching her dragons soar overhead, away from the discussions on preparing for the Eastwatch expedition. Away from Jon and that intense gaze of his.

'_He wasn't the first to love you, and he won't be the last.'_

For some reason, Tyrion's words from many moons ago were only just resonating with Daenerys as they resurfaced in her mind now. In truth, she had never really paid much attention to Tyrion's statement that day; she'd passed it off as something unimportant and irrelevant to what was to come in her near future. She had not thought that there would be any reason for her to listen to Tyrion's advice on this particular trivial matter. But then again, she had not known then that she would meet Jon Snow.

Daenerys had thought that everything she'd been through over the past few years had hardened her, and that she had become incapable of growing to love someone. She had been physically attracted to men, certainly, but not emotionally attached. She hadn't even spared a thought for Daario in months.

Daario Naharis had taken risks successfully, he had been playfully persistent, confident, incredibly handsome…and yet she hadn't suffered one bit when she had ended their relationship and asked him to leave. Their dalliance had only been about the physical attraction, for both of them, and so the feelings had stayed shallow. When they had parted ways, he'd seemed mostly disappointed that he would never have a conquest with the same status and title, and so it had been in no way painful or gut-wrenching for Daenerys to leave him behind. He had never cared about anything more than his own personal pleasure.

Nevertheless, he had still told her that he loved her. And she hadn't felt a thing inside, and so had become resigned to the fact that she had become a heartless person. Deep down, she had been considerably worried that she had lost her compassion and ability to feel anything towards anyone.

But now her path had crossed with Jon Snow's. And everything had changed.

Jon wasn't as charming or flirtatious as Daario – if anything, he was slightly socially awkward around her when they were alone. He did not share Daario's confidence – or rather, over-the-top arrogance – and was instead extremely humble. And yet he was also firm and knew his own value. He was brave; he wasn't afraid to speak his mind or to approach her dragons or to sacrifice himself for something greater. He was handsome, but didn't seem to know it or use it to his advantage. And he did not judge Daenerys based on her looks or her titles; he only seemed to have grown more respect for her after discovering the real Daenerys beneath all of that. He had high standards. He didn't try to impress or charm her; he treated her as an equal. And he deeply admired her, Daenerys was sure of that.

The question burning on her mind, though, was…did he reciprocate the tender feelings she had developed for him? Or was she alone in this unusual state of affection and longing that she had never really felt before?

It was this disconcerting thought that stayed at the forefront of Daenerys' mind over the next two weeks while Jon and his men forged more Dragonglass weapons and prepared for their trip up north to Eastwatch. During this time, Daenerys worked hard to hide how deeply she was beginning to care for Jon, but it was hard with them spending more time in each other's company – in spite of her best efforts, she couldn't bring herself to avoid his company. Over the course of their time together, the two unlikely comrades spoke to each other more about their past, and found themselves warming up to one another even more as they discovered that they had been through a lot of similar hardships in their life. Daenerys found herself beginning to open up more towards Jon, and she accompanied him on daily visits to spend time with her dragons. She was impressed – no, enraptured – by the bond he had developed so quickly with them. She had never known anyone speak about or treat her beloved dragons the way he did. It was captivating.

Jon, on the other hand, was somewhat better at repressing his feelings. Or at least, trying to. Perhaps it was easier due to the nature of her personality. He had a strong sense of duty and purpose, and was driven solely by his goal to defeat the Night King. He couldn't let any attraction or feelings towards Daenerys distract him from that, no matter how frustrating. He needed to concentrate on the Eastwatch expedition, and nothing else. And yet it was so hard to not allow himself to smile with Daenerys as they spent time together in the castle or along the shore or the cliffs of Dragonstone. She was slowly but surely opening his heart, which he had thought closed off forever after Ygritte's death, and now he was left completely flummoxed by the prospect of his upcoming mission. Before coming to Dragonstone, he had not really cared or feared about his own life. He had not had much to lose, nor much to live for. But now? Now he just didn't know. And it unnerved him.

It was a few days before Jon and his men were due to depart when Jon received a message from Missandei saying that Daenerys had requested to see him in the chamber of the painted table. Jon had already left for the chamber before a grinning Davos had the chance to make some snide comment. When he arrived at the chamber, he was surprised to find that no one else was present; only Daenerys stood in the room, her back to him as she looked out of the open archways, watching her dragons silhouetted against the glorious sunset far out on the horizon.

Jon cleared his throat tentatively. 'Your Grace,' he said, and Daenerys turned around to face him. 'You asked for me?'

Daenerys gave him a small smile and nodded in greeting. 'How are you feeling?'

'Oh, you know. Ready to get on with it,' Jon muttered, stepping into the room.

Daenerys barely refrained from pursing her lips. 'I do hope it works.'

'If it doesn't, then…try and convince Cersei anyway. You and Tyrion need to find a way to do that,' Jon said earnestly. 'My life doesn't matter, _this_…the Army of the Dead is all that matters.'

There was a short pause.

'I disagree.'

The soft tone to her voice caught Jon off guard slightly. He looked up to see her gazing at him with a look that reminded him inexplicably of the moment when he'd revealed his plan to go north merely two weeks ago in this very room. The look of despair on her face still haunted him.

'I'm obviously not going to try and get myself killed,' Jon said, trying to reassure her, as he walked around the table towards her. 'This isn't a suicide mission.'

Daenerys raised her eyebrows at him. 'It certainly seems it, from the way you and Ser Davos speak about these White Walkers. I'm trying to support this plan, but…I can't help feeling that it does seem very reckless. And foolish.'

'You're the one to talk.'

Daenerys tilted her head at him, stunned. 'Excuse me?'

'Aren't you the Queen of Reckless Plans?' Jon said, trying to keep the mood light-hearted.

'Well, I would prefer to be known as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I must admit…' Daenerys said, and her lips twitching when Jon chuckled. 'As much as I disapprove…I do admire what you're doing. You're right, it is our best chance.'

Jon nodded, smiling gratefully at her. Close to, he could smell a flowery perfume on her; it was wonderful.

Daenerys looked at him for a minute, an almost nervous expression on her face. 'I, err…I have something for you,' she said, bending down to pick something up from underneath the table.

Jon stepped forward, a bemused smile on his face. 'A gift?'

'Not quite,' Daenerys said, and with a smile she handed over his sword; Jon took it eagerly, his face lighting up. 'Does it have a name?'

'Longclaw,' Jon replied. 'It was given to me by Ser Jorah's father, a few years back at the Night's Watch. It's served me well.'

'Well then, I'm glad to be returning it to you.'

'Thank you, Your Grace,' Jon said, watching her carefully as he attached the sword to the belt fastened around his armour.

He was confused. He knew that Daenerys hadn't been keeping his sword herself, and he knew she could have ordered any one of her advisors or guards to hand it over to him; she must have requested to have it personally from the Dothraki so that she could give it to him herself. It made his heart begin to race as his mind went into overdrive fantasising why that could be.

'Use it well. And come back alive,' Daenerys said gently, unable to take her eyes off his.

Jon's smile faded as he took in the crease between her eyebrows, the wide eyes, the anguished expression. She was worried for him.

He swallowed nervously. 'We're a bit too early for goodbyes yet,' he said, forcing a dry chuckle. 'I won't be leaving for a few days until Ser Davos returns from King's Landing.'

Daenerys looked down. 'I know.'

Jon thought he knew why she was doing this now. It would probably be their last chance to speak privately to each other, just the two of them, before he departed. Jon wanted to say something, but his mind had gone completely blank. Daenerys was stood very close.

'I…I don't wish to go, Your Grace,' he said, hovering awkwardly by the table as he glanced outside at the ocean. 'I'd rather stay.'

Daenerys felt her heart soar at his words. 'I don't want you to go either,' she said, turning to look outside as well. 'But you wouldn't be being you if you stayed. This is something you have to do.'

Jon laughed softly to himself.

'What is it?'

He smiled as he turned to face her. 'How is it you hardly know me and yet you understand me better than most?'

Her intrigued smile as she gazed back at him made Jon want so dearly to close the distance between them and kiss her. But he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn't.

Jon took a few steps back from her as a gust of wind blew inside from the open arch windows. 'It's cold in here, isn't it?' he said randomly.

'Y-yes, it is,' Daenerys said, blushing slightly and nervously pressing down her dress.

'Anyway, I'd…I'd best go,' Jon said reluctantly, backing away. 'Got to get some rest before finishing up in the caves tomorrow morning.'

Daenerys nodded. 'Of course.'

'Thank you, for my sword,' Jon said, patting Longclaw awkwardly as he made his way back around the table.

'You're very welcome,' Daenerys said sincerely. 'Sleep well.'

Jon paused and exhaled deeply. 'You too, Your Grace,' he said.

With a brief nod and smile, he then left the chamber, both of their hearts left racing as they stared straight ahead of them, both of them seeing and hearing nothing but each other.

* * *

The time for Jon's departure came far too quickly for his or Daenerys' liking, but within the next few days, Ser Davos had returned after a successful trip to King's Landing, along with a new ally, Gendry. The weapons had been forged, the men had been gathered, the boats had been loaded. There was nothing left to do now other than to bid farewell and depart for Eastwatch…and Jon had no reason to put it off any longer than he already had. It was time to leave.

'What are you going to say to her?' Davos asked, as they left the caves and headed towards the boat that was waiting for them.

Jon frowned as they trudged along the shore. 'What do you mean?'

Davos rolled his eyes exasperatedly. 'You know what's at stake here, Your Grace. You know the risk. We might not come back. You should tell her how you feel-'

'And what good would that do?' Jon demanded, rounding irritably on Davos.

They both stopped walking and stared at each other in silence. Davos looked stunned. Jon looked away in shame, regretting his short outburst…although in some ways it felt like a relief to talk about it aloud with someone he trusted.

'You don't deny it, then?' Davos said sympathetically.

'No, I do not. But there's nothing to be done about it. And that's all there is to be said,' Jon said firmly, and he turned and led the way on towards the boat.

The others were waiting not too far along the shore. Jon was slightly thrown by the sight of Daenerys and Ser Jorah stood together on the gloomy damp sand by the boat, holding hands, but he kept on walking, trying to focus instead on putting on his leather gloves.

Jorah looked up from Daenerys' fond gaze to see Jon approaching, and he looked down heavily. He didn't know this Jon Snow very well, but in the past two weeks he had learnt many things about him, and there was no denying that he was a good man. If this was the man that Daenerys had indeed fallen for, then at least Jorah was reassured that she would be treated honourably and taken good care of. After all, all he wanted was for her to be happy. He bent down and kissed her hand, and with that turned to continue readying the boat.

It was with a determinedly casual air that Jon then approached Daenerys, trying not to be too bothered by the sight of Jorah kissing her hand. As he came to a stop beside her, he paused for a moment, not sure how to prepare himself to look into her face for what would most likely be the last time. We wished they didn't have to say a private goodbye in a public space. He wished he had said more to her the other night, in the chamber of the painted table. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she had said…'_I don't want you to go either_'…what did that mean?

When he looked up at Daenerys, he was stunned by the intensity of her prolonged gaze. He had no idea that internally she was desperately trying to calm her nerves. Indeed, on the surface she seemed rather relaxed, judging from the slight smile on the corner of her lips. He wondered if she was thinking back to their private conversation the other night…of the implications behind their words to each other. He wondered if he was blinded by devotion to this woman and reading it all wrong. Not that it mattered now, anyway – like he had said to Davos, love and attraction could make no difference to their military and political missions of the two wars ahead of them.

Jon swept his eyes down and away from her; he knew it would only make it harder for him to board that boat if he gazed back into her beautiful face. 'If I don't return at least you won't have to deal with the King in the North anymore,' he said light-heartedly, eventually forcing himself to look back at her.

Daenerys smiled. She appreciated that he was being almost playful, given the current situation. They both knew that there was indeed a significant chance that they would never see each other again. She gazed at him for a moment, trying to determine what to say. Her stunning eyes looked more close to violet in the morning light, and they were twinkling bewitchingly at him. Jon was surprised she couldn't hear his heart thumping loudly.

'I've grown used to him,' Daenerys replied, a small hint of a flirtatious tone barely concealed in her voice.

Jon's smile faded slightly. Perhaps he wasn't being overly-hopeful or ridiculous. Perhaps he wasn't imagining things. After all, she had been quite explicit after the two of them having formed a connection recently. And she had opened up to Jon about how she liked his company. And from the look in her eyes and the devastating smile on her face now, he knew it wasn't just a political relationship she wanted. She shared his feelings, and it broke Jon's heart for him to realise that only just now. Why had they wasted all this time? He was leaving for good in merely seconds, not to mention all the other obstacles in their way. After all, he could not compete with Ser Jorah; he had seen the unique bond between him and Daenerys. And Jon wasn't sure if he would even come back alive. The chances of them seeing each other again were very slim. What would be the point in encouraging whatever _this_ was between them, when nothing would ever come of it?

Jon averted his gaze. 'I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace,' he said formally.

It pained him to say goodbye so uncaringly, particularly when there was so much more that needed to be said, but it would have only hurt them both more if he had been honest.

Daenerys' smile faded. She was somewhat embarrassed; had she wrongly interpreted those stolen looks and moments between her and Jon? Did he not care for her in that way? She had made a few half-hearted attempts at showing him how she felt recently, and yet he had not given her any signs back that he felt the same way, other than the other night when he'd said that he did not want to leave. Perhaps he was disappointed in her; after all, she hadn't offered to help fight the Army of the Dead. She wished he could understand that she couldn't abandon her war, particularly for a reckless venture with creatures that she still wasn't sure she believed in. Nevertheless, whatever his reasoning for a sudden change in heart, she wished he hadn't been so blunt in his words of farewell.

Daenerys gave him a short nod, which Jon returned before walking over to join his men by the boat. He closed his eyes regretfully as he turned his back on her, wishing there was another way…but there wasn't. He had seen how Daenerys had reacted in the chamber of the painted table when he'd said he was leaving. He had seen the way she had looked at him just now as she'd said farewell with those enchanting eyes and stunning smile. He _knew_. And he wanted so very dearly to open up to her and reciprocate. But they couldn't afford any kind of complications or distractions getting in the way of what needed to be done, and he couldn't do anything about his ever-growing feelings for Daenerys – not now, at least. The Army of the Dead needed to be dealt with first.

Daenerys turned and watched as the group of men took hold of the boat and pushed it out into the sea. She didn't even notice Tyrion watching her carefully as he stood beside her. She was completely unaware that he had registered the exchange of farewell between her and Jon. She was equally as oblivious to the fact that Jorah had turned and seen the way she was gazing longingly after Jon; he wished that she would look at him in that way, but it was no use. Her heart had been completely captured – that alone was clear for all on the beach that day. Daenerys remained determinedly on the beach as the boat sailed on towards Jon's ship, watching worriedly and hoping for one last look at Jon's face.

But Jon never looked back.

What was it about him? Why was she so consumed by him? It was infuriating and also rather perplexing to Daenerys; Jon was reserved and had a brooding nature, something that she had never found attractive before, and something that had started off their relationship as rather tense and hostile. But now it had led to something much deeper, at least for her – she was completely in awe of him. He lived by principles beyond his own self-interest. He had a purpose that was bigger than himself. He inspired her to be more. And through that, they had formed a real connection. A connection that, Daenerys now believed, could potentially lead to something more…an emotion she didn't think she had ever truly felt before. Love.

As she watched him sail away now, possibly forever, Daenerys realised that Jon was making her feel something that she hadn't even known was possible. And she might never see him again.


	8. The Rescue Mission

**Based on events during Episode 6 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

The days passed slowly. Daenerys tried to focus on her small war council meetings, but she found herself unable to concentrate on how to defeat Cersei. Instead her mind was consumed by thoughts of the unknown enemy that Jon Snow had warned her about all this time…an enemy that she had somehow allowed him to go to. How could she have let him leave?

She was determined to hide her ever-growing concern for Jon's wellbeing, but as time went on, it only became more difficult. Indeed, on one particular evening, Daenerys and Tyrion were shut away in the candlelit chamber of the painted table while Tyrion counselled her about their proposed negotiations with Cersei, but it was blindingly obvious that her mind was elsewhere. She did not find herself as worried about their upcoming meeting as she ought to be.

It had been approximately a week and a half since Jon and the others had left for Eastwatch. Where could they be now? Had they arrived? Had they found these much-feared White Walkers? Were they still alive? Was Jon thinking about her as much as she was thinking about him? Daenerys sincerely doubted it. He'd made it quite clear in their parting words of farewell that he did not reciprocate her affection. She sighed heavily and took a sip of wine as she watched Tyrion, sat staring lazily into the fire, before turning back to face the table of the Westeros map.

'Do you know what I like about you?' Daenerys asked him.

Tyrion turned to look at her. 'I honestly don't,' he replied.

'You're not a hero,' Daenerys said simply.

'Oh,' Tyrion said, rather put out, as Daenerys walked over to stand by the fire. 'I've _been_ heroic on occasion. I once charged through the mud gate of King's Landing-'

'I don't _want_ you to be a hero. Heroes do stupid things and they die,' Daenerys said, an almost bitter tone to her voice. 'Drogo, Jorah, Daario, even this…Jon Snow.'

Tyrion smiled to himself as he watched her struggle to even say his name without letting her mask slip. She wasn't fooling him.

'They all try to outdo each other,' Daenerys went on irritably. 'Who can do the stupidist, bravest thing?'

Tyrion tilted his head at her thoughtfully. 'It's interesting, these heroes you name. Drogo, Jorah, Daario, even this…Jon Snow,' he said dryly, mimicking her would-be casual hand gesture. 'They all fell in love with you.'

His words made Daenerys' heart soar for one hopeful moment before she realised that what he was suggesting was ridiculous. She scoffed.

'Jon Snow's not in love with me,' she said, half-amused, half-cynical.

Her proclamation to his statement sounded like she wanted to be further convinced of its veracity.

'Oh, my mistake,' Tyrion said sarcastically. 'I suppose he stares at you longingly because he's hopeful for a successful military alliance.'

Daenerys considered him doubtfully for a moment, desperately trying not to hope that he was right. His expression was firm, his tone sincere. He seemed to believe what he was saying. Nevertheless, she rolled her eyes and gave him a sceptical smile.

'He's too little for me,' Daenerys brushed off, trying to sound like she didn't care either way, but then she grimaced as she realised what she had said. 'I didn't mean-'

'As heroes go, he is…quite little,' Tyrion said softly, forcing a smile at her.

It was then when Daenerys tried to change the subject. She couldn't tolerate any more mention of Jon, particularly if Tyrion was going to mock her. She had meant what she'd said – Jon Snow was not in love with her. There was no point in Tyrion teasing her otherwise. But that didn't stop her falling in love with Jon. Even apart, Daenerys could sense her feelings growing stronger by the day. His absence made her pine after him in a way that made her almost embarrassed. This was not like her at all. But there was nothing she could do to change it, whether she wanted to or not. Jon Snow was slowly but surely taking hold of her heart. And all she could do was pray that he would somehow manage to escape fatal harm at the hands of the Army of the Dead.

Later that evening, Missandei came to Daenerys' bed chamber as usual to help her get ready for bed, and Daenerys found herself unable to remain silent on the matter. She had to speak to someone about it, without any judgement or sly comments or disapproval.

'Missandei,' Daenerys began, 'may I ask you something?'

'Of course, Your Grace,' Missandei replied, as she began to undo the many braids in Daenerys' hair.

'You care for Grey Worm very much, don't you?'

Missandei smiled. 'I do. So very much.'

'How…how did you know?' Daenerys asked, staring down at her hands. 'The way you feel about him…how did you…know it was deeper than…' She trailed off; she couldn't find the words.

There was a short silence. Missandei's lips had parted as she realised what Daenerys was getting at. She was slightly stunned.

'I think I knew when I realised that…I was spending every moment thinking about him. Together or not, in dreams or in reality. He fills my mind,' Missandei said wistfully. 'And he's the first person I want to speak to. About anything.'

'I'll try not to take offence at that.'

Missandei was flustered. 'Oh-oh, Your Grace, I…I didn't mean-'

'Missandei, please don't worry,' Daenerys reassured her with a smile. 'It was a joke.'

Missandei looked confused. 'A joke?'

'Yes. Do you know…?'

'Tyrion has educated me in the concept, yes,' Missandei replied, frowning. 'But…forgive me, Your Grace, I just…never thought you…'

'I understand. Humour has never been my strong suit,' Daenerys said, and she smiled sadly. 'I suppose I've become rather accustomed to being…cold-hearted in some regards.'

Missandei shook her head. 'I wouldn't say that, Your Grace. Your heart is full with the need to help the people of this world, and with…I suspect something else, as well.'

'Something else?' Daenerys challenged, turning around to face her, and Missandei's cheeks flooded with colour.

'Forgive me. I do not mean to speak out of-'

'Missandei, you can speak whatever you wish to me, you know that,' Daenerys said, trying not to sound too exasperated. 'You are not my slave, you are my most beloved friend.'

'I am most honoured to hear that, Your Grace,' Missandei said humbly. 'And you are mine.'

Daenerys stared at her. 'So…this…'something else' you spoke of?' she prompted, feeling herself begin to blush; she felt she already knew the answer – after all, why else had she brought the subject up?

'I only meant…that…with…our guest here,' Missandei began tentatively. 'Well, he's been on Dragonstone for quite some time now. And…I believe he has made a…good impression on you.'

Daenerys sighed heavily and turned away. 'Is it that obvious?' she said quietly, raising her eyes to the ceiling of her bed chamber.

'Not at all,' Missandei reassured her, smiling gently. 'I am just…good at reading my…my Queen. And my friend.'

'I do feel…like he is meant to be here,' Daenerys said, sounding bewildered by her own statement. 'He's been a great influence. I wish he hadn't left.'

Missandei nodded sympathetically; she understood just how Daenerys felt. 'From what Tyrion and Ser Davos say, he is a brave warrior. He has fought evil on many occasions. He will come back to you.'

Daenerys simply nodded, and the two remained silent as Missandei continued to undo Daenerys' elaborate braids in her hair.

'Are you all right, Your Grace?' Missandei asked softly once she had finished.

'Yes,' Daenerys said, though she knew it was a lie, and she reached out for Missandei's hand and squeezed it. 'Thank you, Missandei.'

* * *

It was around twelve days later when Daenerys received the raven. She had to read the short scroll three times over before she was able to fully comprehend what it meant. Panicked, she felt her hand let go of the scroll; her mind was already set before it had hit the floor. She knew what she had to do. She had no choice.

Tyrion was waiting patiently for his queen inside the audience chamber, hoping that their next meeting would be more productive than the others had been as of late, and he sighed, bracing himself, as he heard Daenerys' footsteps approaching the chamber. He walked over to the open doors of the chamber but froze and frowned bemusedly as Daenerys instead walked determinedly past him and away from the chamber.

'Wh- Your Grace, may I ask where you're going?' Tyrion asked, perplexed, as Daenerys continued to storm on towards the castle doors.

'To Eastwatch,' Daenerys replied without stopping.

Tyrion's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he hurried out of the audience chamber to follow her. 'I must have misheard you there, Your Grace,' he said, laughing falsely. 'For a moment I thought you said-'

'I'm flying to Eastwatch,' Daenerys cut over him firmly, halting in her tracks and turning to face him. 'I'm taking all my dragons with me. They have them.'

'I'm sorry?' Tyrion said, astounded.

'The White Walkers. They have Jon and his men,' Daenerys said, her voice shaking slightly.

'I thought you didn't believe-'

'I've just received a raven from this Gendry person Ser Davos brought back with him from King's Landing – they've been besieged by the Army of the Dead. They're trapped and they need my help,' Daenerys said determinedly.

Tyrion looked horrified. 'Your help?!' he protested incredulously. 'What can you possibly do? Your Grace, even if you fly there, the journey will most likely take you a few days, unless the wind is kind to you, but even then it'll be too late – if the White Walkers haven't already killed them, they will have frozen to death!'

'I refuse to believe that,' Daenerys said fiercely. 'There's still time. I can save them, but only if you stop pestering me. Every minute we waste is-'

'Your Grace, listen to yourself! You're not thinking logically!' Tyrion interrupted loudly, a hint of desperation in his voice, and Daenerys glared furiously at him. 'I'm sorry, truly I am, they do not deserve to suffer such a fate, but there is no point in you risking your own life when it is already a lost cause.'

'This is Jon and Jorah, I can't just leave them there to die!' Daenerys protested.

Tyrion's eyes widened. 'Oh, we're calling him 'Jon' now, are we?'

Daenerys turned away from him irritably and began to walk on. 'I don't have time for your-'

'You are blinded by infatuation!' Tyrion snapped; he backed away slightly as Daenerys rounded on him, her nostrils flaring.

'Infatuation?' Daenerys said angrily.

'Yes! You have fallen for the man!' Tyrion said accusingly.

Daenerys looked mortified. 'How dare you speak to me in-?'

'I am your Hand!' Tyrion retorted. 'If you didn't think I would speak openly to you then you should give that role to someone else!'

He froze then, apparently regretting his words. Daenerys had tilted her head at him, her expression livid, but was then distracted by the sight of Missandei appearing nervously behind Tyrion.

'Your Grace?' Missandei said tentatively. 'You asked for your winter coat, before you depart.'

'Yes,' Daenerys said after a stunned hesitation, and she shook her head wearily. 'Forgive me, Missandei, yes I did. If you'll excuse me for a moment, Tyrion.'

She followed Missandei into a chamber not far off down the corridor, where an impressive white fur coat hung waiting for her. Daenerys had asked Missandei to have it specially made for her a while ago in preparation for winter, after having envied the practicalities of the fur on Jon's own coat. She wasn't sure what occasion she had been first expecting to wear it, but it wasn't this.

Daenerys had always been willing to risk her life to do what was right. But this was so much more; it went beyond what was right. This involved people who had captured her heart. Her dear friend Jorah, who had been by her side from the beginning and who had saved her life so many times. Jon, who had become so important to her in such a short amount of time.

The two friends remained silent as Missandei helped Daenerys dress into her winter clothing. As she fastened up the long fur-lined coat, Missandei eventually cleared her throat; she couldn't keep her thoughts to herself any longer.

'Your Grace, are you sure about this? I'm concerned it might be…' She trailed off anxiously.

'What would you do if it were Grey Worm?' Daenerys asked softly, watching her carefully. 'If he were at the mercy of dead men and frostbite, would you leave him to his fate? Or would you do whatever you could to try and save him in time?'

Missandei smiled sadly and stepped away from Daenerys. 'I understand. I wish you…the very best of luck, Your Grace,' she said. 'I hope you can save them.'

Daenerys nodded. 'So do I,' she said, and, taking a deep breath, she turned and headed back out towards the corridor.

To Daenerys' irritation, Tyrion had soon caught up with her as she marched outside the castle and along the cliffs towards where her dragons rested. He was taken aback by her change in attire; she was wearing a majestic white striped fur coat – the look of a warrior.

'Tyrion, I won't argue with you a moment longer about this,' Daenerys snapped before he even had time to open his mouth. 'I'm going to Eastwatch, and that is that.'

'You can't!' Tyrion protested, hurrying after her as she approached her dragons. 'The most important person in the world can't fly to the most dangerous place in the world.'

'Who else can?' Daenerys pointed out.

'No one. They knew the risk when they left. You can't win the throne if you're dead. You can't break the wheel if you're dead,' Tyrion said urgently, as Daenerys began to climb up onto Drogon.

Daenerys turned to face him exasperatedly. 'So what would you have me do?' she demanded.

'Nothing. Sometimes nothing is the hardest thing to do,' Tyrion said despairingly, his eyes welling up, and Daenerys sighed. 'If you die we're all lost. Everyone, everything…'

Daenerys considered him for a moment. 'You told me to do nothing before and I've listened to you. I'm not doing nothing again,' she said firmly.

She almost felt guilty, as she flew off the cliffs with all her three dragons, leaving Tyrion watching her helplessly. Maybe he was right and it was a lost cause, and her rescue mission was completely hopeless. Even now, she still doubted herself. She was risking herself and her dragons, and for what? It was then when Daenerys realised that she was being a 'hero', a notion she explicitly despised and yet she couldn't help herself…this was Jon. She had to try to save him. She had to.

* * *

Jon had never had particularly good experiences beyond the Wall, but right now in this moment, he felt this was definitely the worst. He and the raiding party were trapped on a small island, separated from the vast horde of White Walkers only by a sheet of broken ice. Jon wasn't sure how many days they had been there – two, three? Time seemed to have no meaning anymore. All he could think about was how unbelievably cold he was. Every part of his body was frozen, he was shaking so much he could barely keep standing, and his skin and hair were all covered in icicles. Thoros had already frozen to death, and it was only a matter of time before the rest of them followed suit. Even the fire from Beric's sword couldn't keep them alive for much longer.

They could only hope that Gendry had managed to return to Eastwatch and send a raven to Daenerys, but Jon was doubtful…not just of whether she would be able to help them in time, but whether she would even journey all this way to help them at all. This was _his_ mission, not hers; why would she risk her life for a cause she didn't even believe in? He would more than understand if she decided to stay at Dragonstone and focus on her own personal war against Cersei, but he also found it deeply frustrating. In spite of their doomed predicament, they had still succeeded in their task and managed to capture a wight; it was here with them on the island, struggling to escape from its restraints as they all waited, shivering, for _something_ to happen. If only Daenerys could see, then she would truly know the danger facing their world.

Jon closed his eyes as he tried not to think of her, the cold biting painfully at his cheeks. Since stepping foot on this island, his mind had been clouded with vivid memories of the day they had left Dragonstone for Eastwatch. He couldn't get the look on Daenerys' face out of his head. Those stunning violet-blue eyes, the rosy lips in a half-smile, the mesmerized gaze, the soft tone to her voice_…'I've grown used to him.'_ Why had he shut her down afterwards? Why hadn't he been more open towards her?

'You didn't look back,' Davos had said, once they had departed the shore and sailed off towards their ship.

Jon had looked down grimly. 'No, I didn't.' Or rather, he _couldn't_.

If he had looked back to Daenerys, then he might never have gone through with leaving.

Jon could feel his hold around his sword slackening; he tried moving his freezing fingers to get some feeling back into them as he tightened his grip around the scabbard. He had offered to give Longclaw to Jorah a few days ago – after all, it had belonged to Jorah's father. But Jorah had refused.

'It's yours,' he had said. 'May it serve you well, and your children after you.'

Jon had been deeply moved, and a little relieved; he never wanted to give up Longclaw. But he had also been a little stunned by Jorah's suggestion that he would have children; he had never considered that before, not when he had sworn to be a brother of the Night's Watch. But now those vows no longer applied to him. He was free to marry and have children if he wished. He thought inexplicably of Daenerys again.

But then the attack began.

Without them realising, the water surrounding the small island had unfrozen…and so the Army of the Dead charged forward to strike the raiding party. Jon felt as if he were in a trance as they all fought back; he swung his sword desperately, determined to last as long as he possibly could. But as he looked out at the humungous crowd of dead men running towards him and the others, an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness washed over him.

_This is it. This is the end. Please don't let me turn into one of them. _

Terrified, he closed his eyes as he thought of Daenerys' hair and enchanting eyes. And then he raised his sword once more; he was going to go down fighting, he would make sure of that. He felt his nostrils flare in fury as he got ready to strike his sword down on the onslaught of yet more White Walkers climbing up onto the island.

He felt the surge of heat before the familiar roar reached his ears. Eyes widening in shock, Jon dove to the ground just in time as the fireball soared down from above him. When he looked up, he saw that the White Walkers that had been upon him had been turned to ashes. Scrambling unsteadily to his feet, Jon looked up to the sky; he had never been more overwhelmingly grateful to see the three large dragons there, breathing fire all around them. And there was no mistaking the long silver hair atop the familiar Drogon as the dragons continued to decimate the many White Walkers still charging towards the island.

_She's here. _

As she circled around the island, ordering Drogon to continue burning as many of the undead soldiers as he could, Daenerys looked down desperately for Jon. She needed to know he was still alive. The sight of the battle below her was beyond horrific; it terrified her to very core. They were real. The White Walkers were real. And there were _so many_ of them. How would they have a chance surviving against a whole army of them?

But then she saw him, and the moment her and Jon's eyes met, they both knew that not all was lost.

In her desperation to get to him, Daenerys steadily landed Drogon down on the ground with a huge shuddering thud that shook the broken ice even further apart; while Drogon and his brothers continued to breathe fire at the approaching horde of White Walkers, Daenerys turned to face the raiding party. Jon barged forwards through the group, pushing the others out of the way; he needed to see her. He was amazed. She had actually come here, all this way, to save them, knowing the great personal risk to herself. As Drogon thudded towards them, all the while protecting them from the White Walkers with his fire, Jon rushed up to him, unafraid, to climb on.

Daenerys held out her hand for Jon urgently; he reached for her as well, but just before his fingers touched hers, a growl from a nearby White Walker approaching distracted him, and he hesitated. Daenerys' face fell in horror as Jon drew his hand back and turned to face some of the dead soldiers, who weren't going to let them get away so easily. While he fought them off, the surviving members of the raiding party all climbed up onto Drogon, with Daenerys' help.

'Jon!' Daenerys cried, watching anxiously as Jon continued to fight the White Walkers, but he didn't hear her. 'Jorah, do something!'

'JON!' Jorah shouted desperately.

But Jon was too preoccupied; there were too many of them still threatening to kill them all, and he couldn't risk a single one of these monsters anywhere _near_ Daenerys. He had to protect her. Daenerys was panicked; everyone was sat securely on Drogon now – even the wight they had managed to capture – and all they were waiting for was Jon…but he was far out, swinging his sword left and right in impressive combat against the dead. She was so frightened for him that she didn't notice the Night King throw his ice spear…at least, until Viserion let out a cry of agony.

Her head jerked up and she watched in horror as her beloved dragon went hurtling down to the ground, a huge trail of blood and fire following in its wake. Drogon cried out for its brother but it was too late; Viserion smashed onto the surface of ice with a huge splatter of blood from his fatal wound…and then slowly sank deep into the freezing water. Daenerys stared for what seemed like an eternity at the spot where her dragon had died. She couldn't hear, she couldn't see, she couldn't even feel the biting cold or Jorah's comforting touch beside her. She experienced nothing. Only emptiness.

Jon watched Daenerys in despair; even from this distance, without being able to see her expression, he knew how distraught she was. It had been distressing for even _him_ to witness, particularly with Viserion's agonising cry of pain as he plummeted to his death, but Daenerys' dragons meant so much more to her. And not just as a weapon or an intimidation ploy. He remembered all the things she had told him about them during their time together on Dragonstone. Viserion had been her child. And the Night King had just murdered him.

Breathing heavily, Jon slowly turned around to face the Night King. He suddenly felt a fury like no other as he glared upon that skeletal, ice-blue face in the far distance. Stabbing a few charging White Walkers, Jon briefly contemplated charging at the Night King. He knew it was a foolish thought, but he was enraged. But then he spotted the second ice spear; his eyes widened in horror.

'GO!' Jon shouted to Daenerys.

Daenerys slowly turned around to face him, too stunned and heartbroken to focus on what he was saying.

'GO, NOW! LEAVE!' Jon yelled, running back towards her and Drogon as he wielded his sword at the onslaught of White Walkers that were continuing to charge at him.

Daenerys stared wide-eyed as she watched Jon fight his way desperately towards them. 'Come on, Jon, come on,' she muttered urgently, her teeth chattering.

A tear froze on her cheek as she watched Jon fight against the impossible; some of the White Walkers slipped on Viserion's blood as they charged at him. She knew that Jon was being rational and brave, trying to cover their departure by staying on the ground and defending them against the White Walkers to ensure their safety for as long as he possibly could. But still. He really was being an idiot. He needed to get over here and onto Drogon _now_ before it was too late and –

Daenerys gasped in horror. 'NO!'

A pair of White Walkers had knocked Jon into the waters of the frozen lake. She heard him yell out but then he was gone, beneath the water. So close, and yet so far. Daenerys felt an urge to leap up off Drogon and try and get him out of the water herself, but it was no use – she would be no match combat-wise against these monsters attacking them.

'Your Grace, we need to _go_-!'

'Wait,' Daenerys said desperately, watching the ripples in the water.

But Jon did not emerge.

Her eyes flickered over to the enemy she now knew was far worse than Cersei Lannister; the Night King. He was taking another weapon from one of his White Walker lieutenants…another ice spear. Panicked, Daenerys looked back down, frantically scanning the ice for signs of life from Jon. She saw only Jon's abandoned sword on the ice.

She had no choice. She had to flee.

Reluctantly, Daenerys pulled at Drogon's horns and they lifted off, Drogon narrowly evading the second spear hurled by the Night King as they went. Rhaegal followed close behind as the two dragons took flight with heavy beats of their wings and mournful cries for their lost brother. Daenerys whimpered slightly, determined not to let the tears fall, as she thought of her poor dear Viserion…and of Jon, the man she cared so deeply for…the man she had just abandoned. Daenerys looked over her shoulder in pure despair at the Army of the Dead, more terrifying in magnitude and horror than her imagination would have ever dreamed, and flew off into the northern sky.


	9. Reunited

**Based on events during Episode 6 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Eastwatch was a dreary place. Daenerys wasn't sure how long it had been since they had landed here – only a few hours, probably – and yet, despite how anxious she was to leave, she couldn't. Not when there was still a chance he might have made it out of that horrendous nightmare alive. She had lost enough today as it was. Viserion was gone. Jon couldn't be gone as well. He just couldn't be.

'I left him,' Daenerys murmured.

She and Ser Jorah were sat in a room by the fire, while the others were carrying the captured wight on board their ship. Daenerys could hear Drogon and Rheagal crying out miserably in the distance as they flew around Eastwatch.

'Your Grace, you mustn't think-'

'I left him there to die,' Daenerys said, her voice shaking slightly. 'I should have stayed, why did I-?'

'He told you to leave,' Jorah interrupted firmly. 'If you'd stayed and waited for him, we would have all perished. You would have no dragons left. You saw how determined the Night King was. Jon Snow stayed behind to protect us. To protect you. He knew what he was doing, and he made that choice.'

'He was a reckless fool,' Daenerys muttered.

Jorah tilted his head at her. 'He was a brave warrior. A hero.'

Daenerys hastily wiped her eye. 'Y-yes he was. _Is_,' she corrected herself firmly. 'He might have survived.'

'Your Grace, I…I don't see how,' Jorah said, frowning. 'I'm sorry, but…'

'I'd like to wait for him,' Daenerys went on, turning away from the fire.

Jorah didn't understand. He clearly thought she was wasting time. It was hopeless.

'Just a few more hours,' she insisted, registering the cynical look on his face. 'I'm sure he would do the same for me.'

This comment seemed to change something in Jorah; he smiled sadly at her. 'I'm sure he would too, Your Grace.'

Not too long after, a Wildling by the name of Tormund escorted Daenerys to the top of the Eastwatch castle, at her request, so that she would have the best view. If Jon were to somehow escape and return to them, she would see him first from this viewpoint. Ser Jorah offered to keep her company but she asked to be left to herself for now. She needed to be alone to get over Viserion's death. She had never once comprehended that harm could befall her dragons. She'd thought they were invincible. She was in shock.

Daenerys grieved for Viserion silently, and without crying, as the hours slowly ticked by and she waited through the night and the unbearable cold in the hope that Jon might somehow appear through the woods.

It felt like her whole world had collapsed around her. She just didn't know what to do. The laments of grief from Drogon and Rheagal as they circled the castle echoed her own misery and hopelessness. Jon had literally given his life so that she, the rag-tag wight hunters, and her remaining dragons could escape unharmed. And she had abandoned him in return.

Dawn broke and yet still Daenerys continued to wait in anguish, even though deep down she knew that Jon was most likely dead. She had watched him drop through ice into a freezing lake, surrounded by thousands of deadly animated corpses. Who could have survived that?

When she heard Jorah's footsteps as he approached from behind, Daenerys' heart sank.

'It's time to go, Your Grace,' he said sorrowfully.

Her expression was agonised as she continued to look down the bottom of the Wall. 'A bit longer,' she said in an unsteady voice.

Jorah sighed. At this rate, the raging wind and bitter cold were going to make Daenerys ill. There was no point in her being up here any longer; it was too late. And yet still he could tell from her half-hopeful, half-desperate tone that she was still praying that Jon had somehow survived his plunge with the White Walkers beneath the freezing icy water. Jorah said nothing and simply took a few steps back, waiting for her.

Daenerys' lips trembled as she took one last look at the woods below. She knew she was being ridiculous, thinking he would have been able to escape. It was her own fault anyway, for what had happened to Jon. She should never have left him. And she would have to live with that agony and regret for the rest of her life…however long or short that may be.

She had just given up and turned away, when she heard the horn blast out from the other end of the castle.

Daenerys froze, hardly daring to hope. She and Jorah peered forwards as they heard shouts from the Night's Watch brothers and the Wildlings down below; something was approaching. Daenerys walked back over and felt her lips part in shock as she caught sight of the horse that had emerged from the forest down below.

'OPEN THE GATE!' came an urgent cry from below.

Even so far up, Daenerys could make out the familiar furs and matted black hair of the collapsed figure on the back of the horse as it neared to the castle, and she felt her heart soar.

_He's alive._

She felt on the verge of tears of joy. Her breathing coming out in unsteady gasps, her heart racing like it had never done before, Daenerys hurried past Ser Jorah and rushed down the rickety wooden steps in her desperation to see the man she cared so deeply for her.

'Is it him? Is it Jon?' Daenerys asked urgently once she had joined the group assembled downstairs.

'It is, Your Grace, but he's not in a good way,' Ser Davos replied anxiously, and he stepped back.

Daenerys' eyes widened. They had laid Jon on the table; he was unconscious and he looked badly wounded, but what concerned her most was the colour of his skin – he was ghostly pale, and his body was shaking violently.

'He's weak, I can barely heart his heart. He needs medical treatment, now.'

'We've got some equipment on the ship-'

'Then get him aboard. Quickly!' Daenerys ordered, and she exhaled deeply as she watched the men prepare to carry Jon down to the port. 'How did he survive?'

'The thing you should know about Jon Snow is that he can survive fucking anything,' Tormund growled, and he chuckled bemusedly at her.

'What can I do to help?' Daenerys asked desperately.

'There's nothing you can do, Your Grace,' Ser Davos replied hopelessly, as they wrapped Jon's unconscious, broken figure more tightly in his furs. 'We'll do everything we can.'

She caught hold of Ser Davos' arm. 'Don't lose him,' she begged in a low, firm voice, and Ser Davos nodded determinedly at her.

Jon was quickly transferred to the ship for medical treatment; Daenerys followed not long after he had been brought on board, unable to keep away from him after the scare of the past day. Ser Davos and the rest of Jon's men had laid Jon down on the bed in his cabin. Daenerys stood in the doorway and watched fearfully as Jon was stripped of his mottled furs and leather armour. She felt her lips part in shock as she finally understood what Ser Davos had meant on the day of their meeting when he'd said that Jon had 'taken a knife in the heart for his people'.

His muscled chest was covered in deep, penetrating scars. They looked like stab wounds. Fatal ones.

Daenerys was astonished. In all their conversations, Jon had not once told Daenerys anything about these scars; in fact, he had determinedly hidden them and avoided the subject of Ser Davos' mysterious words in their first meeting. He could have tried to impress her with his scars and the tale behind them, but he hadn't. He was selfless…and clearly a natural leader, willing to give up everything for the good of the people. She knew now that no man could be more noble and worthy of Kingship than Jon, and she was in complete awe of him. What had this man been through? All this time Daenerys had spoken about her own troubling past, she had never once stopped to consider Jon's. It left her feeling rather ashamed, if not a little shaken.

The mere notion of falling in love with someone was something Daenerys had always regarded to be weak. It wasn't something a queen could do. But she could no longer fight it. She could feel it happening it in this very moment.

Finding it hard to tear her eyes away from his scarred chest, Daenerys began to shake her head slightly in disbelief.

Ser Davos looked up from Jon's bedside, apparently noticing her distress. 'Your Grace? Are you all right?' he asked.

'I…I just need a moment,' Daenerys murmured, and she backed out of the cabin.

She hurried down the ship corridor towards her own cabin, where she crouched down on the floor over her basin out of fear she might be sick. She suddenly felt very dizzy as everything came crashing down on her all at once. Jon's near-death, his scars, Viserion's brutal demise, the Night King, the Army of the Dead…all of it. It made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. But she couldn't do that. She must not do that.

Daenerys remained alone in her cabin for a few hours; they soon set sail from Eastwatch port, and she found solace in the reassuring sounds of Drogon and Rheagal flying alongside the ship. If only Viserion was there with them. While she watched her remaining dragons through her cabin window, Daenerys could feel her entire view of the world changing. Her coming to Westeros was not about winning the Iron Throne after all. It was about winning the war for the living. She could see that now. She wished it hadn't taken yesterday's experience to show her that, particularly after everything Jon had told her these past few months. But at least now she knew her purpose in this world. She had received a wake-up call about what _really_ mattered. She thought back to the silly arrogant woman who had first introduced herself to Jon Snow, and was immediately overcome with embarrassment. How things had changed.

That evening, Daenerys finally left her cabin to go and check up on Jon. Ser Davos was hovering in the doorway, keeping a devoted eye on his king. Daenerys joined him.

'How is he?' she asked, watching Jon as he slept in his bed, the scars on his bare chest still visible.

Ser Davos sighed heavily. 'He'll live.'

'Those…those scars on his chest, what…-?'

'It's not my story to tell, I'm afraid, Your Grace. You'll have to ask him,' Ser Davos said grimly, turning away from Jon to face her. 'Not that he'll go into much detail. That was a dark day in his past.'

Daenerys nodded slowly. 'Can I stay with him? Until he wakes?'

'I'm not sure how long that'll be, Your Grace,' Ser Davos replied doubtfully, frowning. 'Could be hours, could be days.'

'Nevertheless, I'd like to be there with him,' Daenerys said. 'Please. He needs watching over anyway, and you've all done your part.'

Ser Davos considered her for a moment. The soft tone of her voice, the simple use of the word 'please'…he could sense a change in Daenerys Targaryen. The events of yesterday seemed to have shaken her very deeply.

'Very well, Your Grace,' he said kindly. 'As you wish.'

'Thank you, Ser Davos,' Daenerys said, 'for everything you've done for him.'

Ser Davos smiled and gave a short nod before departing for his own cabin for some much-needed sleep.

After washing and dressing into an old black dress, Daenerys then returned to Jon's cabin, and closed the door. All she could hear was the sound of the waves outside and Jon's slow, deep breathing. It was rather peaceful. She found a stool in the cabin and carried it over towards Jon's bed so that she could watch over him while he slept, to make sure that he was all right. The edge of his topmost scar peeked out from beneath the covers on the bed – huge, and right over his heart. Daenerys' eyes flickered away from his handsome face to stare at it, trying to take in what Davos' words from their first meeting might mean.

Suddenly in that moment she realised that being Queen didn't matter to her anymore. The Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms…just as Jon had said from their very first meeting, it was all pointless if the White Walkers were to invade, as they inevitably would. She had to focus on the fight ahead, and on what was right in front of her. There was no time for political games anymore. And there was certainly no time for treading on eggshells around a particular person. She didn't want to hide her feelings for him anymore. Yesterday had only shown her that life was too short for that. No more formalities, no more being cautious. She had to be herself around him from now on…even if that meant showing that she had fallen in love with him.

* * *

Jon was cold. Not anywhere near as cold as he'd been in that dangerously freezing lake, but still…cold. At least, his bare chest was anyway. His bottom half seemed to be covered by various covers and furs, though he wasn't sure. He didn't know where he was or how he'd got there. He couldn't even open his eyes. He thought of Uncle Benjen, how he'd sacrificed himself to save Jon from the White Walkers. He couldn't remember how he'd travelled back to Eastwatch…he seemed to have blacked out while on that horse…

He seemed to be lying on a bed, and Jon could sense a presence near him; Ser Davos, most likely. But no…as he stirred awake, he slowly came to the realisation that whoever was with him didn't smell like Ser Davos. There was a pleasant, flowery scent in the air. A woman's. And not just any woman's…he _knew_ that smell.

His eyes began to flutter open. The sunlight streaming through the windows obscured his vision slightly, but even through his blurred sight he could make out the dainty silhouette and the long, curly silver hair sat before him. From the slight rocking beneath him, he guessed that they were back on the ship and out at sea. Eventually, his vision gained clarity, and he felt a surge of warmth at the sight of Daenerys sat there at his bedside in his cabin, watching him with a gentle expression on her face. His mouth fell open slightly as he drunk her in. He'd thought he was going to die back there on that island, surrounded by those monsters. He'd thought he was never going to see her again. And yet here she was. And she was so beautiful.

Daenerys' lips parted, overwhelmingly relieved that he was finally awake. She watched his pupils dilate as their eyes met, and it was only then when she realised that perhaps he might not want her here. After all, they had only seen each other in a formal capacity before – not with one lying injured and half-naked in bed. It wasn't exactly proper. But then again, after the traumatic events of yesterday, what did that matter?

Her crestfallen expression was what reminded Jon of the tragedy that had occurred at the hands of the Night King. Poor Viserion. Even though Jon had not encountered the dragons that much or been around Daenerys long enough to fully understand her special connection with them, he still knew what she had lost, what her dragons were to her. He knew what it meant to lose the ones you love.

Jon gazed at her in despair from his pillow. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, with a slight shake of his head. 'I'm so sorry.'

Daenerys shook her head desperately at him, pressing her lips together. His selflessness only continued to blow her away; his first thoughts and words were for her. She had been holding her tears at bay until now, because people had been watching, and she'd still had hope. Here with Jon and only Jon, she let go of hope and poise, and let the tears silently fall.

She looked down at her lap, grief-stricken, and without thinking, without even hesitating, Jon reached out and grasped Daenerys' hand. He was weak, but moved their intertwined hands to rest on the furs on the bed. This simple intimate act of holding her hand moved Daenerys to more tears; she had never been more grateful for someone's touch. Jon was relieved as Daenerys grasped his hand back tightly, glad that he had not stepped over the line.

The moment he had reached out to touch her, Jon knew that something had changed within him; ever since his resurrection, he'd been led to believe that his only purpose in life was to fight in this endless war and bloodshed, for the Lord of Light. But now he was actively reaching for something beyond all of that; he was initiating the beginning of something that he truly _wanted_, something he was ready to take, and something that he suspected (and very dearly hoped) that Daenerys wanted too. They were both on unfamiliar ground, particularly because they were more-or-less equals, but he did sense that the attraction there between them was no longer in his imagination. It was real.

'I wish I could take it back,' Jon murmured, his voice tired and weak. 'I wish we'd never gone.'

His words had an unexpected effect on Daenerys; her tears stopped. She knew that the fight against the Night King and his army was all that mattered to Jon, and that the hunt beyond the Wall had been vital to saving the living people of Westeros. For him to say such a thing, for him to lament so deeply for Daenerys, enabled her to bring her grief under control, so that she could speak. Slowly and reluctantly removing her hand from his, Daenerys looked at him and realised that he was not like any of the other men she had encountered.

She shook his head. 'I don't,' she said in a small, soft voice that Jon didn't recognise. 'If we hadn't gone, I wouldn't have seen. You have to see it to know…Now I know.'

Jon gazed at her, half-mesmerized, half-guilty. He hated that she was in so much pain. He wished he could do something, _anything_, to help her. And yet she was so determined to hold it together, and to see the good in the horrific events that had transpired beyond the Wall. He had truly never seen a woman like this before. Her beauty, her strength, her grief and the pain it made him feel…they all pushed him to the realisation that he loved her. He was thrown by this realisation. He didn't know what to do with it. It put him at a loss for words.

'The dragons are my children. They're the only children I'll ever have,' Daenerys said tearfully; it was crucial he knew this. 'Do you understand?'

Jon averted his gaze briefly before giving a heavy, contemplative nod, and he looked back up at her. A look of understanding passed between the two of them. An alliance through marriage had always been an option Daenerys had been willing to pursue in her rise to power, but she had never once expected, or even dared to hope, that this option could present itself in the form of someone like Jon Snow. From a political perspective, it was ideal – after all, they shared common values and goals. And they could no longer ignore the fact that they both had romantic feelings for each other. But Daenerys needed to be honest with him; she needed him to know that, if they did at some point in the future decide to go down this route, she would not be able to mother his children.

Daenerys paused briefly. 'We are going to destroy the Night King and his army,' she promised Jon. 'And we'll do it together. You have my word.'

Her eyes were still glistening with tears as she said it, yet her voice was determined and sincere. She didn't care anymore that he hadn't pledged fealty to her. All that mattered was that they were both here, flesh and blood, having survived a horrific ordeal. And they would fight against the enemy as one.

Jon swallowed nervously, completely blown away by the woman sat before him. Her words were music to his ears. She was giving him her support, without even getting anything in return. In that moment, Jon could see what so many had seen over the years; the force within Daenerys that enabled her to conquer everything in her path.

'Thank you, Dany.'

The words had come out of his mouth before he even had time to consider them. He wasn't sure whether he addressed her as 'Dany' in an attempt to form a closer bond with her or as a term of endearment. All he knew was that there was a sense of familiarity as he said it, a desire for affection that flooded him with warmth and relief. It felt so comfortable to speak to her like this. More personal. More intimate.

Daenerys smiled at him in bemusement. She was pleasantly startled; she couldn't remember the last time someone had called her something other than 'Your Grace', and she was unusually happy that Jon felt he no longer needed to be formal around her. But still, it caught her off guard.

''Dany',' she said bewilderedly, and she chuckled, cutting him short. 'Who was the last person to call me that? I'm not sure, was it my brother? Hm. Not the company you want to keep.'

'All right,' Jon said decisively, his voice still weak yet his tone certain. 'Not 'Dany'.'

He hesitated, considering her for a moment. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He took a deep breath, and was blindsided by the words that came out of his mouth even as he spoke them.

'How about 'My Queen'?'

It took a few seconds for Daenerys to register the words that had just come out of his mouth. Completely caught off guard, she stared at him, trying to figure out if he really was saying what she thought he was saying. Jon smiled slightly; it felt right to say those words. This woman had been willing to risk everything in order to help and save him and his men, even without initially believing him, and with no price in return. She had proved herself more than worthy of the title. She deserved it.

'I'd, err…bend the knee, but…' He trailed off awkwardly as he glanced down; he wasn't dressed.

Daenerys was in shock. She almost couldn't speak. She had made it very clear to him that she didn't require him to pledge his fealty anymore; she didn't care about all of that now, and he had her support without it. There was no strategical or political advantage for doing what he had just done. But he had named her his Queen anyway, not out of any political gain but out of pure respect and affection. He believed in her. He had called her 'My Queen'. And this meant more coming from his lips than the lips of any other person in this world.

'What about those who swore allegiance to you?' Daenerys asked dazedly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Warmth flooded Jon's face. She wasn't just asking out of concern that they would accept her as _their_ Queen, but as _Jon's_ Queen as well.

'They'll all come to see you for what you are,' he said, an almost proud tone to his voice as he gazed up at her.

Daenerys felt an overwhelming sure of relief and affirmation at his words, and she exhaled shakily. She been secretly clouded by self-doubt over her rage and decisions, and terrified that she would follow in her father's footsteps and become a Mad Queen. But now she had earned an ally – a _real_, respectful ally who she revered – who chose her and claimed her worthy to be followed. Unlike so many of the others, he could see past her harsh exterior to know that she was a good person at heart. It meant more than she could say to have earned his trust and admiration in this way; her eyes welling up again, she reached for his hand. Jon took it gladly, and they both gazed down, relishing the feeling as their thumbs gently stroked each others' hands. They never wanted to let go.

Daenerys gazed back at him tearfully. 'I hope I deserve it,' she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

She didn't regret showing her insecurities to him; in fact, it felt strangely comfortable. Jon was the only person ever in front of which she had allowed herself to show some vulnerability regarding her right to rule. She was allowing herself to bare her whole heart to Jon, and only Jon. And it felt good. It felt right.

Jon smiled up at her, touched that she was letting him see her as she truly was inside. 'You do,' he promised sincerely.

She could tell from the look on his face and in his devoted eyes that he was being genuine. He wasn't bending the knee to her looks or her power or her birthright but to her character – to who she, Daenerys, was as a true and real person.

They continued to gaze longingly at each other as they held hands. Daenerys' fingers moved against his, liking the way it felt. It took her a while to realise that she was probably letting on too much. Her eyes swimming with tears, she moved to pull away…only Jon stopped her. She tensed slightly as Jon pulled her hand back and squeezed it, slightly shaken as she realised in that moment that he did reciprocate her romantic feelings after all. Tyrion had been right all along. She stared down at their intertwined hands and then slowly looked up at him from underneath her long eyelashes; he was gazing irresistibly into her eyes, wordlessly reassuring her that she no longer needed to hide it anymore, that he felt the same way she did.

Glancing down nervously, Daenerys slowly pulled away; Jon let her this time, though noticed the way her fingers lingered before letting go. Jon's lips parted as he swallowed slightly. The tension in the air was tangible.

Daenerys was flustered. 'You should get some rest,' she murmured, her voice breaking slightly as she looked determinedly anywhere but those smouldering eyes of his.

But she couldn't avoid his gaze for that long; her wide, mortified eyes turned back to his, and a look passed between them, a look that acknowledged what had almost just happened. Jon nodded and closed his eyes. Daenerys watched him for a few moments longer; as he gave a heavy sigh and pretended to fall asleep, she stood up unsteadily, slightly shaken by what had just passed between them. She was breathless and her heart was racing uncontrollably.

_This isn't good,_ she thought to herself.

But it was too late to stop it from happening now. She was in too deep, and, from the way Jon had held her hand and gazed at her, she knew that he was too. Jon listened, his eyes stayed shut, as Daenerys exhaled deeply and tried to recover her composure. Neither of them had known just how powerful their feelings – no, their love – for each other had been until today. But now they knew. Now they were utterly besotted, and there was no going back. Jon's eyes flickered open and he watched Daenerys go as she left the cabin. Her fingers twitched where Jon's gentle hand had been.


	10. The Journey to King's Landing

**Based on events between Episode 6 and 7 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Daenerys strangely enjoyed being out at sea. It meant that she had more time to herself, for there was little she could do that would be productive to her cause while travelling. It meant that she could allow herself time alone in her cabin to grieve Viserion. It also meant that she could spend more time with Jon in an informal capacity.

Once Tyrion, Missandei and Varys had joined them on board, the ship set sail for King's Landing, a long trip during which Daenerys looked forward to growing even closer to Jon, whom she now knew reciprocated her affection. He seemed to have completely changed his attitude about her; he had seen her come to his aid when he needed it the most, he had seen her sacrifice one of her own dragons to save him and the mission, he had seen her be truly selfless and think beyond her own entitlement to the Iron Throne…he now knew the level she was willing to go to in order to help people. And Daenerys could see the same in Jon; he had helped her and the raiding party escape the White Walkers at the expense of his own life. And the stab wounds. Those horrific stab wounds that Daenerys still had yet to ask him about. He would do anything he could to save the people of Westeros, and not boast about it once.

This wasn't just lust between them, both of them knew that; it was about trust and respect. It was about their shared politics and integrity. It was about how one was willing to give something up for the other. It was about how they could be emotionally vulnerable to each other and be true to themselves. It was about how they were drawn to each other in a way that even they didn't understand. All this led Jon and Daenerys to the realisation that they were stronger together than they were apart…and this fact only became more apparent as they spent longer each day in each other's company on the quiet ship.

Indeed, Jon was often eager to find time alone with Daenerys, away from the others' prying eyes…something that did not go unnoticed by their advisors.

'I'm not sure how much longer that wight will last in that crate…' Tyrion was saying as the men assembled on the upper deck one chilly evening.

'It will last. I'm sure of it,' Jon said firmly. 'And I'm sure Daener- sorry, Queen Daenerys, would rather us discuss the more important matter of what we're actually going to say when we get there to King's Landing. We've got the proof – now we need to persuade the enemy to join us.'

It wasn't long after when Jon departed to find Daenerys in the lower decks of the ship. The moment he was out of earshot, Tyrion leaned forward to Lord Varys with a concerned frown on his face.

'Did you hear that?' he said agitatedly. 'He was about to call her Daenerys.'

Varys looked at him in mock horror. 'Well we should chop off his head at once.'

Tyrion rolled his eyes; Varys may disagree that there was something to worry about, but Tyrion couldn't help it. He saw the stolen looks and touches and secret smiles passed between Jon and Daenerys. It was only a matter of time before they gave into their longing for each other. And then that would only worsen matters. They were falling in love with each other, he could see it happening through his very eyes, and falling in love was not the wisest thing to do in the midst of war. It meant they had more to lose.

Jon found Daenerys alone in the captain's office, which had been turned into a study for the two of them and their advisors. The cabin was lit only by candles, and Daenerys was sat on an armchair close to the desk in the centre of the room. Jon tapped on the door and leant against it as he entered; they smiled at each other in greeting.

'I didn't see you at dinner,' Jon said.

'I…wasn't hungry,' Daenerys replied absently, and she looked up at him. 'Will you have a drink with me?'

Jon hesitated, his heart racing ahead, and nodded. 'I'd like that very much.'

Daenerys rose from her seat and crossed over to the desk to pour them both a glass of wine. When she handed him her glass, they both sat down on the two cosy chairs, as equals.

'Jon, may I ask you a personal question?'

Jon smiled; he liked that she had started addressing him by his first name ever since their intimate conversation in his cabin while he was recovering. 'Of course. Anything.'

'Have you ever been married?' she asked, and Jon nearly choked on his wine; he had _not_ been expecting that.

'M-married? Me? No. No, no,' he replied, avoiding her gaze.

Daenerys tilted her head at him. 'But there was someone.'

Jon looked up at her; there was a slight smirk on her face. 'What gave it away?'

'Your eyes,' she replied simply.

He gazed at her for a moment, and then sighed in defeat. 'Yes, there was someone,' he admitted. 'A Wildling girl. Her name was Ygritte. She had red hair. She was…quite a character. But it didn't end well.'

'What happened, may I ask?'

'She was killed. At the battle at Castle Black,' Jon replied heavily.

'Did you love her?' Daenerys asked. She didn't sound bitter or jealous in any way; merely curious to get to know him more.

'I did,' Jon answered truthfully; he had to be honest with her. 'She was my first.'

There was a comfortable silence as they both thought deeply and sipped on their wine. Eventually, Daenerys spoke up about what had long been preying on her mind.

'I'm not sure if I ever truly loved my husband. Not in the way I should have done. It feels terrible to say that aloud,' Daenerys murmured, ashamed, and she gazed in wonder at Jon. 'You're the first person I've said that to. Why is that?'

'Perhaps I have a very trustworthy face,' Jon said light-heartedly, and Daenerys laughed softly.

'Please don't misunderstand, I…I _did_ care for Drogo, very deeply,' Daenerys insisted. 'And he was good to me…in the end. But at first…he didn't know how to behave in a marriage and…well, he didn't treat me well. I forgave but…I could never quite forget.'

'Ygritte wasn't a saint, either. She liked to belittle me, often, and…well, she shot me with arrows,' Jon said, and then he laughed. 'She always used to tell me that I knew nothing.'

'Well if it's any consolation, I think she was mistaken. I think you know a great deal,' Daenerys said softly.

Jon smiled at her gratefully. 'I'm glad you feel you can talk to me,' he said, after another short silence. 'About…your husband. About anything.'

'What about you? Do you feel you can talk to me about those scars?'

Jon stared at her. Daenerys swallowed nervously but stood her ground. She hadn't brought the subject up at all until now, but she felt it was about time. She wanted to know. But only if Jon wanted her to know.

'M-my scars?' Jon said, and his voice broke slightly.

There was a pause.

'I saw,' Daenerys murmured, her eyes welling up slightly as she watched him carefully. 'The day you were brought on board, when you returned to Eastwatch. They were removing your cloak and…I saw what had been done to you. Stab wounds, they looked like. No one could survive that.'

Jon looked down heavily and sighed; eventually he looked back up at her with a hint of a sad smile on his face 'I didn't.'

And so for the next hour Jon told Daenerys everything. His entire story. How he joined the Night's Watch…his encounter with the White Walkers…his experience with the Wildlings…the massacre at Hardhome…his treacherous brothers stabbing him in the heart for allowing the Wildlings through the Wall…Melisandre's powers that had miraculously brought him back…He had never wanted to tell anyone about his traumatic journey that had led him to this point, but strangely, it felt like a relief to tell Daenerys. Like he was no longer bottling an important part of himself up. No more hiding. No more secrets. He was opening himself up to her in every way he could, and he felt happier because of it.

Daenerys was silent for a while after he had finished his tale, and did not do much other than gaze thoughtfully at him and sip her wine. She wasn't perturbed or fearful of him; she was utterly bewitched.

Jon tilted his head at her, somewhat amused by her casual response to what he had just told her. 'You don't seem too horrified by the fact that I was…resurrected,' he noted, stunned.

Daenerys smiled. 'Believe it or not, I have my fair share of experience in resurrections,' she replied, taking another swig of wine as she raised her eyebrows at him. 'Yet another thing we have in common.'

'Care to elaborate?' Jon asked, leaning forward in his chair, and Daenerys chuckled. 'This sounds like a story I want to hear.'

'Another time, I promise. But it's…it's late,' Daenerys said reluctantly as she put down her wine glass, aware that Missandei would be waiting for her. 'I should really be…going to bed.'

Jon looked towards the window in alarm. 'Oh, I'm sorry to keep you,' he said at once, leaping to his feet. 'I…I didn't even realise it had got dark outside.'

'No, don't be sorry, I…this was nice,' Daenerys said as she too rose to her feet, and it felt strange to say it. 'It's…refreshing to talk with ones' allies about something other than the impending war against the dead.'

Jon stared at her. 'An ally.' _Is that all I am?_

'Y-yes,' Daenerys said after a slight hesitation, and she blushed furiously; the smouldering intensity of his gaze and the half-smile on his face caught her off guard.

'I see,' Jon said, somewhat amused, and with a nod he headed towards the door. 'Well…goodnight, Daenerys. Thank you for the drink and…the company.'

'Goodnight, Jon,' Daenerys said softly, and she smiled warmly at him.

The moment he had left the study and shut the door, she sank back into her chair, clutching her hand to her chest. There had been a drastic change within her; she could feel it in her bones. Looking back on their first meeting now, Daenerys realised that she had been blinded by her own pride. She had valued the importance of ancient pledges and birthrights more than Jon's prime concern: the needs of the people and the survival of humanity. It made her ashamed just to think of that now, and she suddenly felt a rush of overwhelming gratitude for the priestess Melisandre, not only for bringing the miraculous Jon Snow back to life, but also for contriving their meeting. If she had not met Jon Snow when she had, and been so moved by his compassion, Daenerys was fearful of what she might have become without his influence. She had been so arrogant, so focussed only on herself and her power and her throne. But he had steadily changed that in her, without either of them even realising it. She could sense herself blossoming into a kinder person, the person she had once been before the trials and traumas of the past few years, and it was Jon she had to thank for that. He had humbled her down, and she had learnt a great deal from him. And he had opened up her heart in a way she hadn't even known was possible.

But, in spite of all this, she needed to be more careful around him. The more time they spent alone in each other's company in secluded corners of the ship, the more likely it was becoming that _something_ would happen. And she couldn't allow that. She had to focus on working out how they were going to convince Cersei to help them defeat the Army of the Dead. No more distractions. She would just have to avoid being alone with Jon. How hard could that be?

* * *

It was a couple of nights before they were due to arrive at King's Landing when Jon found Daenerys in a state unlike he had ever seen her before. It was extremely late at night – long after everyone had departed for bed – but Jon had been restless and unable to sleep, so had decided to go for a wander above deck. And then he'd seen her, sat huddled in the corner, crying silently to herself.

Jon's lips parted as he gazed anxiously down at her. She was still wearing her charcoal black dress, but her hair was undone from its elaborate braids and hung loose, cascading down her shoulders; the curls blew dramatically in the cold wind. Her head was buried in her lap as she hugged her knees tightly to her. She looked so alone. So afraid. So miserable. It filled Jon with pain to see her like that.

'Daenerys, you shouldn't be out here,' Jon said quietly, 'it's far too cold.'

He smiled sadly at her as Daenerys looked up from her lap in shock. Judging from the expression on her tired, tear-streaked face, she clearly hadn't heard him emerge on the deck.

'I can cope with a bit of cold,' Daenerys muttered, turning away in embarrassment so he couldn't see her tears.

'I don't doubt it. But still,' Jon said, and he sighed heavily. 'You don't need to hide your grief from us all, you know. You said so yourself, Viserion was your child. You don't need to pretend down there and then come up here in the dead of night to mourn.'

Daenerys peered up at him from underneath her folded arms. She was awed that he understood her connection with her dragons so deeply. It had taken her advisors and the closest people to her a considerably long time to become accustomed to the fact that the dragons were to be considered as more than her mere pets. And yet Jon had seen this almost straight away.

'I'm a queen,' Daenerys said, her voice shaking slightly. 'Queens don't cry.'

Jon approached her slowly, his expression aching with sympathy. 'Queens…aren't without emotions. Queens are human,' he said earnestly. 'Just like the rest of us.'

There was then a violent gust of wind; his cloak billowed out in the night air and Daenerys gave an involuntary shudder as the cold bit at her cheeks. She smiled in spite of herself as she wiped away a stray tear.

'Jon, I appreciate your kindness but…I would rather you not see me like this,' Daenerys said, sniffling and looking back down at her lap. 'Please leave me alone.'

'What…up here in tears on the floor by yourself on a cold night?' Jon asked sceptically.

'Yes. Leave.'

'Is that a command, Your Grace?' His tone was almost playful.

Daenerys didn't answer. She didn't have to.

Jon smirked. 'Thought not.'

He looked up as it began to spot with rain. A distant rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance; a storm was coming.

'I just…can't help thinking…what if I'm nothing without my dragons?' Daenerys said in a small voice.

Her words broke Jon's heart. He had never seen her so full of self-doubt before.

'What if they are the only thing that has enabled me to get to where I am?' she went on. 'Without them, I'm…I'm…-'

'You're extraordinary,' Jon said, cutting Daenerys short; she gazed up at him, stunned, as he stepped towards her. 'Dragons or no dragons. Targaryen or not. You are…extraordinary. Don't lose faith in yourself now, Daenerys. It's what's kept you going all this time. And it's what will get you through this dark place you're in right now.'

A silence fell between them, while the wind continued to howl and the rain came down more steadily. Daenerys succumbed to more tears as she let Jon's touching words wash over her. She so desperately wanted to believe what he had just said. He certainly seemed to believe it himself. Perhaps this was enough for her now. As she cried, Jon approached her and slowly sat down on the wet decking floor beside her.

'Wh-what are you doing?' Daenerys asked, startled.

'I'm sitting down,' Jon replied simply.

She was half-mortified, half-grateful. 'You don't need to stay.'

'I know I don't,' Jon murmured. 'But I want to.'

Daenerys gazed at him for a moment, watching as his face, hair and fur cloak got wet from the rain without him even noticing, and she felt her lips tremble. Before she knew what was happening, she had rested her head on his shoulder while she continued to cry. Hesitating awkwardly, Jon then slowly reached out to put a comforting arm around her and he held her as she wept. After a few moments, Daenerys found that her sobbing had strangely halted as she relished the feeling of Jon's warm, protective arms around her; she looked up at him to meet his gaze. He didn't seem bothered by the cold water from the pouring rain that was now soaking them both. Despite his hair and cloak already being sopping wet, he was simply gazing at Daenerys sympathetically, and she knew then that he understood her completely. Despite her misery and the bitter cold temperatures of the rain and frosty air, she suddenly felt a surge of warmth flood through her. She was so glad that he was here.

'I'm sorry,' she murmured, looking back at her knees and shivering, and she was shocked to hear that her voice shook.

She hadn't said the word 'sorry' in a very, _very_ long time.

Jon continued to gaze at her. 'Don't be,' he said quietly, and he slowly reached out to move a sopping strand of front hair out of her face.

His gentle touch both surprised and comforted Daenerys, but she was still shivering uncontrollably. She carried on staring at her knees, her cheeks blushing at the way Jon was sat intimately beside her. The tears seemed to have completely stopped now that he was here with her.

'You're freezing, aren't you?' Jon asked then, his voice still gentle.

'A little,' Daenerys replied, nodding.

'Are you ready to go inside?' he offered. 'I can ask Missandei to-'

'No. Not yet,' Daenerys interrupted quietly. 'Just…a few minutes more. Please.'

She wanted to make the most of her time here, outside beside Jon Snow where she didn't have to be _Her_, the all-powerful all-confident Queen, just for a bit. With Jon, she didn't have to be Her. She could be her true self…someone she had only recently been reacquainted with. And it was so peaceful.

'Of course,' Jon murmured. 'Whatever you want.'

Ever so carefully, Jon then removed his cloak, and slowly wrapped it around Daenerys to keep her warm and protected from the cold rain. One last tear escaped her as she ws overwhelmed with love for him, and she rested her head on his shoulder again as he held her close.

Gradually, the rain came to a stop, and Daenerys' shivering came to a halt. Daenerys slowly leant her head off Jon's shoulder and looked at him, her lips parting slightly as she took in his longing expression. His eyes were gazing into hers in a way that made her feel breathless. His face was close enough for her to see the raindrops dripping off the edge of his nose and beard. But then, before she had time to say or do anything, there came the sound of footsteps from the other end of the deck.

'Oh.'

Jon and Daenerys jerked apart and looked up to see Lord Varys stood there, looking amused and completely unsurprised as he gazed down at the pair huddled together in the corner. Jon hastily withdrew his arm from around Daenerys.

'I'm sorry for disturbing, Your Grace,' Varys said, though his sly voice indicated that he did not feel sorry one bit.

Flustered, Jon got up to his feet; Daenerys glanced at him irritably before doing the same.

'May we help you, Lord Varys?' she asked pointedly.

'I was merely taking a walk when I noticed err, the door to our King in the North's cabin open. I was concerned,' Varys replied casually.

Jon gave him a false smile. 'You were worried I'd jumped overboard, Lord Varys?'

Varys stared at him. 'Something like that.'

'Well, thank you for your concern. I was just…taking a walk as well myself,' Jon said, and he gestured Daenerys beside him. 'As was our Queen.'

'Yes. Although the hour is late; we should perhaps retire to bed,' Daenerys suggested to Jon, and then she blushed, mortified, and added hastily, 'In our own…separate cabins.'

Jon nodded, fighting back a smile. Varys glanced back and forth between the par, a suspicious glint in his searching eyes.

'Well…goodnight, gentlemen,' Daenerys said, with an awkward little nod.

'Goodnight, Your Grace,' Jon said, and he watched her as she walked away and disappeared to the lower decks.

The moment she had gone, Varys tilted his head appraisingly at Jon. 'Tread very carefully with that one, Jon Snow,' he said warningly. 'This is the Mother of Dragons you're playing with. She won't take it well if you break her heart.'

'I don't intend in doing any such thing,' Jon said firmly.

Varys seemed almost amused by his comment. 'That means nothing. Just be sure of what you're doing,' he said, and with that he began to walk away. 'Sleep well, Jon Snow.'

But Jon did not sleep well; he lay in bed awake all night, tossing and turning, his thoughts plagued by Daenerys and White Walkers and the sound of Viserion's fatal screams as he tumbled to the ice. It took him an enormous amount of effort to force himself out of the cabin for their daily meeting the next morning, however his exhaustion was soon forgotten about when he entered the study and caught sight of Daenerys stood there, surrounded by her advisors, her eyes only for him. After exchanging greetings, the group all soon quickly set to discussing the plan of action for tomorrow's arrival at King's Landing.

'I think we should arrive separately,' Jon said to Daenerys, and Daenerys frowned.

'You don't want us to be seen to be…together?' she asked, somewhat disappointed.

Jon smiled; she had become particularly attached to that word as of late. 'It's not a question of what I want. I think you need to arrive with your dragons after the rest of us have arrived. Show Cersei what she's truly up against,' he explained.

Daenerys considered him for a moment and then nodded in agreement. 'Well I've been told I do have a proclivity for making dramatic entrances,' she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

Missandei caught Ser Davos' eye as they watched their King and Queen share a smile. One thing was for certain; with Jon and Daenerys working so well together leading the party, they might have a chance at persuading Cersei Lannister to help them after all.


	11. The Dragon Pit

**Based on events during Episode 7 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

Jon's suggestion for Daenerys' late arrival to their meeting with Cersei could not have gone down more successfully. The look on Cersei's face alone as Daenerys and her dragons swooped into the desolate remains of the dragon pit in King's Landing was enough to show just how truly intimidated she was by her fiery rival. Cersei was on the losing side of this war. She knew it, and Daenerys knew it. Now all that was left to do was convince her to join them in the other war. The war against the dead.

With the Hound's help, Jon released the captured wight from the crate they had brought from the ship. Once she had witnessed the White Walker soldier writhing about on the ground before being destroyed by the Dragonglass weapon Jon used in his demonstration, it seemed that Cersei finally accepted that this was proof of the threat posed by the Army of the Dead.

'If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered will have been for nothing. Everything we lost will have been for nothing,' Cersei said, shaken by what she had just seen, and she glanced over at Daenerys, sat to the side near Tyrion. 'The Crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy.'

Jon, who was stood before Cersei, exhaled deeply in relief. He caught Daenerys' eye, and they exchanged a hint of a hopeful smile.

But then Cersei spoke again.

'In return, the King in the North will extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs,' Cersei said, and both Jon and Daenerys' faces fell in dismay. 'He will not take up arms against the Lannisters. He will not choose sides.'

'Just the King in the North?' Daenerys asked. 'Not me?'

Cersei gave a dry chuckle. 'I would never ask it of you,' she said in disgust. 'You would never agree to it, and if you did, I would trust you even less than I do now. I ask it only of Ned Stark's son. I know Ned Stark's son will be true to his word.'

Cersei turned expectantly to Jon, fixing him with a stern, threatening gaze. Daenerys looked back at Jon as well, wondering what he would say. Either he would have to lie to Cersei or he would feel obligated to do as Cersei demanded and return to the North. He would have to leave Daenerys' side. She could not bear that thought, but she knew Jon well enough now to know how much he would struggle to make a promise that he had no intention in keeping. But still. He had to do what must be done. If this was the only way to gain Cersei's support, then Jon would surely find it in him to be slightly dishonest to the cruel woman sat before him.

A heavy look of defeat on his face, Jon then turned to face Daenerys. She raised her head to him slightly, trying to reassure him without words that it was all right, that she knew he had to say whatever he must to convince Cersei, that she would not think him a traitor. Jon knew from the warm gaze in her eyes that this was what Daenerys was trying to convey, and yet it still left him with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. He could not let her down. But he also could not lie.

He glanced back uneasily at Cersei. 'I _am_ true to my word. Or I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask,' Jon said, and Daenerys frowned slightly. 'I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.'

Cersei looked furious as she glared down at Jon, but Daenerys didn't even notice; she was gazing breathlessly over at Jon, her eyes wide, her lips parted. She was stunned. She exhaled deeply, unsure whether she was more angry or more lovestruck. A part of her sincerely wished that Jon hadn't publicly pledged his loyalty to her in such a foolish way. And yet a part of her was overwhelmingly glad that he had. Loyalty has always been an attractive quality to her; she could feel her heart racing like never before. And yet she could also feel fury at him rising inside her as well; there was no way the rest of this meeting would go well after what he had just said.

'Then there is nothing left to discuss,' Cersei spat, rising from her seat. 'The dead will come North first. Enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you.'

Horrified, Jon opened his mouth to speak but could find no words; instead he watched hopelessly as Cersei and her entourage stormed past him and left the dragon pit. He was unable to look at Daenerys. Yes, he had upheld his oath to her, but his honour had destroyed their plan. He was incapable of lying. And he was devoted to his Queen. Was he blinded by love for her? Had his irrevocable affection for Daenerys led him to make the most reckless decision of his life, and thereby doomed the fate of the world as they knew it?

'I wish you hadn't done that,' Ser Davos muttered.

Jon raised his eyes to the sky irritably, and sighed as Daenerys rose from her seat and marched over to him. He couldn't bear to look her in the eye.

'I'm grateful for your loyalty,' she said, barely able to contain her frustration with him. 'But my dragon died so that we could be here.'

Jon closed his eyes, still unable to look at her. She sounded close to tears.

'If it's all for nothing,' she went on angrily, 'then he died for nothing.'

'I know!' Jon snapped.

He still couldn't bring himself to face her. Her cold disappointment and rage and grief was too much, particularly when he had to accept the fact that he was the cause of it all. Why did he have to be such an idiot?'

'I'm pleased you bent the knee to our queen. I would have advised it, had you asked,' Tyrion said, and he turned angrily to Jon. 'But have you ever considered learning how to lie every now and then? Just a bit?'

Jon rounded on him. 'I'm not going to swear an oath I can't uphold,' he said firmly. 'Talk about my father if you want, tell me that's the attitude that got him killed. But when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. And lies won't help us in this fight.'

'That is indeed a problem. The more immediate problem is that we're fucked,' Tyrion said agitatedly.

'Any ideas as to how we might change that state of affairs?' Ser Davos asked.

There was a short silence.

'Only one,' Tyrion said in a low voice. 'Everyone stays here, and I go and talk to my sister.'

Daenerys stormed up to him, her silent anger making both him and Jon flinch slightly. 'I didn't come all this way to have my Hand murdered,' she protested.

'I don't want Cersei to murder me either. I could have stayed in my cell and saved a great deal of trouble,' Tyrion replied.

'I did this. I should go,' Jon said, determined to make amends, and Daenerys' heart stopped in fear.

'She'll _definitely_ murder you. I go see my sister alone,' Tyrion said firmly. 'Or we all go home and we're right back where we started.'

Daenerys considered him. After a moments' silence, she gave a reluctant nod, and off Tyrion went to confront his twisted sister. The others remained behind in frosty silence while they waited anxiously for his return. As time slowly dragged on, Jon trudged over to the side of the dragon pit; Daenerys left him to brood on his own for a while, but then could bear the tension no longer. She walked quietly over to him as he explored the dusty ruins of the dragon pit. He had stooped down and picked up what appeared to be a small skull of a dragon's head. It looked tiny enough to be a baby.

Hearing her approach, Jon glanced around at her. She looked less angry, but still saddened by the situation that he had landed them all in. His eyes flickered back down to the skull that he was turning over in his hands. Daenerys was silent when she came to a halt beside him. She didn't know what to say.

Jon sighed heavily. 'No one is less happy about this than I am,' he murmured, still unable to meet her disappointed gaze.

'I know,' Daenerys said gently, her temper somewhat cooled now. 'I respect what you did. Wish you hadn't done it, but I respect it.'

'Respect' was, in all honesty, putting it lightly. But Daenerys had to remain calm and collected around him. At least, she did with so many others in the pit with them.

Her voice was so much softer around him now, ever since Viserion's death. Even in her anger and misery and frustration right now, she showed her vulnerability and acted so differently around him, more so than any of the others. It made Jon see a small glimmer of hope in the midst of all this mess.

Daenerys took a few steps closer to him and held out her hand for the miniscule dragon skull in Jon's hands; he handed it over to her. 'This place was the beginning of the end for my family,' she said, examining the skull in distaste and looking around at their surroundings, and she spoke in Valyrian. 'A dragon is not a slave.'

She slowly began to walk over to a quiet corner of the pit, away from prying eyes. Jon followed her.

'They were terrifying. Extraordinary,' Daenerys went on wistfully, as she came to rest by an archway. 'They filled people with wonder and awe…and we locked them in here.'

She looked around the dragon pit in disgust.

'They wasted away. They grew small. And we grew small as well,' Daenerys said bitterly, leaning against the bricks behind her. 'We weren't extraordinary without them. We were just like everyone else.'

She held out the dragon skull to give back to Jon. He took it from her, making sure to brush his gloved fingers against her own as he did so.

'You're not like everyone else,' Jon said, astonished by how humble she had become.

He gazed at her for a moment, and then walked towards her. Daenerys' heart rate increased rapidly as he stepped closer to her; there wasn't much distance between them now. For anyone looking their way, she knew they did not look like merely two allies conversing. But no one seemed to have notice; it was just the two of them, hidden away in a dark corner of the pit, their eyes only for each other. It was incredibly intimate.

'And your family hasn't seen its end. You're still here,' Jon said, an almost triumphant air to his voice.

'I can't have children,' Daenerys said quietly.

'Who told you that?' Jon asked, a slight frown on his face.

'The witch who murdered my husband,' Daenerys replied.

'Has it occurred to you she might not have been a reliable source of information?' Jon pointed out, and Daenerys smiled in amusement; he made it sound almost like a challenge.

She gazed at him in wonder for a moment. 'You were right from the beginning,' she said softly, and it didn't pain her to admit it. 'If I had trusted you, everything would be different.'

She knew there was no point in regretting the past, but still, she couldn't help feeling this way. Looking back now, Daenerys barely recognised the cold-hearted, untrusting, arrogant person she had been when she and Jon had first met. She had become ruthless and hard…until she had met Jon. He had made her feel like herself again. With Jon, she no longer had to put on any kind of fierce act. She could open up to him. She could be…Daenerys. It was as if she finally remembered who she really was, underneath all the grandeur and titles. Unbeknownst to her, Jon had been her light at the end of a very dark tunnel. And she had been the same to Jon as well.

'So, what now?' Jon asked heavily.

Daenerys shook her head to herself helplessly. 'I can't forget what I saw north of the Wall. And I can't pretend that Cersei won't take back half the country the moment I march north.'

Jon looked down defeatedly. 'It appears Tyrion's assessment was correct,' he said dryly, and Daenerys gave him a questioning look as he gazed back at her. 'We're fucked.'

In spite of everything, Daenerys laughed softly. She appreciated that he could try to make light of their doomed situation. Jon smiled tenderly back; the way he looked at her made her heart melt. She had got so lost in his warm gaze that she had almost forgotten about Tyrion's private audience with Cersei; indeed, when Jon's eyes flickered to her lips, Daenerys had almost forgotten about pretty much everything. But then there came the sound of approaching footsteps, and the spell was broken. Her smile fading, Daenerys peered around Jon's shoulder; she and Jon emerged from their secluded hideout to see that Tyrion had returned. And he was not alone.

Daenerys and Jon stepped up together and waited for Cersei and her entourage side-by-side, a united front. The sight of the two of them stood together, joined at the hip, was enough to make Tyrion freeze. They looked so powerful. A force to be reckoned with. And it shook him.

Cersei came to a halt opposite them, her head held high. 'My armies will not stand down. I will not pull them back to the capital. I will march them north to fight alongside you in the Great War,' she said; Daenerys felt overwhelming relief as Jon glanced over at Tyrion, who gave them both a reassuring smile. 'The darkness is coming for us all. We'll face it together. And when the Great War is over, perhaps you'll remember I chose to help…with no promises or assurances from any of you. I expect not.'

She spat the words, but Jon and Daenerys did not care – all that mattered was that she was helping them. They had succeeded in their mission, and now, finally, they might have a chance at defeating the Army of the Dead once and for all. It filled them with hope. It filled them both with the desire to take each other's hand and squeeze it. But they didn't. All they could do was look at each other and smile and speak without words in the hope that their advisors and the Lannisters couldn't see what was happening between them.

* * *

It took them just under a week to travel back to Dragonstone. During this time, Jon and Daenerys were practically inseparable. Wherever anyone went on the ship, they could be sure to find the pair at each other's side constantly, apart from in the early morning and late at night. Although…this wasn't always the case.

Indeed, one particular night found the two conversing in the dining cabin way past the hour in which they had planned to retire to bed. They had been unable to sleep due to the ferocious storm raging outside, and so had decided to share some wine together instead.

'Do you really think she'll send her men north?' Daenerys wondered aloud, taking a sip of wine as they sat together in the cabin.

'Tyrion seems to think so.'

Daenerys didn't seem to find this answer reassuring. 'But is Tyrion blinded by loyalty to his family?'

'He and Cersei aren't really family,' Jon said thoughtfully, drinking some more of his wine. 'She's evil. And I don't say that word lightly. Tyrion is a good man.'

'He is,' Daenerys agreed.

There was a short silence while they listened to the wind howling and the rain battering against the windows outside. Daenerys was glad they were sitting down; the ship was rather unsteady on the waters tonight due to the weather.

She tilted her head at him. 'So.'

Jon smiled back at her. 'So.'

'Once we've set our affairs in order at Dragonstone, we'll depart for Winterfell,' Daenerys said, raising her glass.

'You're sure you want to come with me?' Jon asked, and his words sent butterflies tingling in Daenerys' stomach. 'Dragonstone is your home.'

'Exactly, and Winterfell is yours. It seems only fair I should see it,' Daenerys insisted, and they shared a smile as they clinked goblets and took another sip of wine. 'We're in this together, Jon. No matter what happens. The White Walkers are near to the North, so that is where we will go. We need to defend your home. Besides, I want to see it. I want to meet your sisters and brother. And Ghost.'

Jon was in awe of her. And completely in love. As the ship rocked slightly to the side, he couldn't help wondering how long he would be able to keep this pretence up, how long he'd be able to refrain himself from giving into his feelings. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to keep it in any longer.

'I never really thanked you,' he said, gazing affectionately at her.

'For what?'

'Coming all that way to save us. Beyond the Wall,' Jon replied, as the storm continued to rage outside. 'You risked your life for us. You didn't have to do that.'

Daenerys gazed at him in wonder; he still didn't get it, did he? 'I had no choice. You were in danger,' she said simply, but then her face fell. 'Although you shouldn't be thanking me. I should be asking you for forgiveness. I left you behind.'

'Because I told you to go. And because you thought I was dead. Fucking hell, _I_ thought I was dead,' Jon said reassuringly, and without thinking he reached out and took her hand. 'There's nothing to forgive.'

Daenerys looked down at their intertwined fingers and smiled. 'For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't die out there,' she murmured, squeezing his hand.

'So am I.'

They both chuckled softly, but then Daenerys' face fell. It was the first time she had talked about that day without dwelling on Viserion's death. It made her feel somewhat guilty. Jon seemed to understand; he slowly withdrew his hand from hers and finished off his goblet of wine.

'It's late. We should…' He trailed off awkwardly as he got up to his feet.

'Yes. We should,' Daenerys agreed, rising to her feet.

The ship was swaying violently from side to side; Daenerys and Jon both had to grab the furniture and walls to keep themselves upright as they made their way towards the cabin door to leave, but with a mighty clash of lightening, the ship was sent swerving to one side. Their empty wine goblets fell to the floor with a clatter as Daenerys lost her balance and was knocked into the wall from the sheer force of the violent storm raging outside.

'Ooh, careful!' Jon said in concern, and without thinking he put his hand on Daenerys' waist to steady her. 'Are you all right?'

Daenerys couldn't answer; she was too shaken and breathless by their proximity. He had never been stood this close to her before. Jon felt a lump rise in his Adam's apple as he took in Daenerys' intense gaze, and he looked down nervously at his hand on her waist.

'Forgive me, I didn't mean…' Jon began nervously, but he couldn't finish his sentence; her eyes were smouldering as they bore into his, cutting him short.

He meant to pull away from her but he felt his fingers lingering, and, as if she knew he needed reassuring that this was what she wanted, she slowly put her hand over his, keeping his fingers there tight and secure around her waist. Jon exhaled deeply as he gazed at her in wonder, praying his heart rate would regain some control of normality. Her lips were so full and rosy. And right _there_, mere inches from his.

This couldn't be. They were driven people in powerful roles and had set their sights set on a daunting, near-impossible task to fight the Army of the Dead, which they needed to focus on. They could not allow themselves to be distracted by their burgeoning love for each other. But what if this was actually what both of them needed? What if this wouldn't end in disaster? What if this was the one good thing in their troubling lives right now that could make them happy?

The ship rocked to the side again; the two of them stumbled slightly, and Daenerys reached an arm out onto Jon's shoulder to steady herself as their foreheads knocked into each other's. They both looked at each other and began laughing softly. And then Jon was tucking a loose strand of Daenerys' hair behind her ear…and Daenerys was gazing longingly up at him, leaning slowly towards him…his nose touched hers…

'Your Grace, I…oh.'

With a gasp, Daenerys jumped apart from Jon, who turned around irritably to see Tyrion stood in the open doorway to the dining cabin. The two of them had been so preoccupied with each other that they hadn't noticed Tyrion's firm tap of the door as he had unsteadily entered. Trying hard not to lose balance himself, he cast them both a disapproving glance.

'My apologies,' Tyrion said insincerely, as he firmly held onto the door. 'I did not realise you had company.'

Jon and Daenerys exchanged a flustered look. There was no avoiding the fact that Tyrion had interrupted a very intimate situation. From what he had seen before he had alerted them to his presence, it looked as if Jon had backed Daenerys up against the wall.

'What is it, Tyrion?' Daenerys asked impatiently, smoothing down her dress slightly and holding onto the wall to avoid falling again.

'I was wondering if you were all right…with the storm,' Tyrion said, avoiding her searching glare. 'I know you can get quite…seasick at times.'

It was a blatant lie, and very obvious to Jon what he was trying to do. Daenerys seemed mortified.

'I'm…quite well, thank you,' she replied, furious with him.

'Good.'

There was an awkward silence. Tyrion looked from Jon to Daenerys pointedly. Eventually, Jon could stand the tension no longer.

'I…should be going,' he said, stepping away from Daenerys, and he nodded at them both. 'Goodnight, Your Grace. Tyrion.'

'Goodnight, Jon.'

Both Jon and Tyrion froze slightly; Daenerys had not called him 'Jon' in front of anyone before. Jon looked into her eyes for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, a dozen things passing between them without words, and then he turned and left, closing the door to the cabin behind him.

Daenerys flashed her eyes warningly at Tyrion before he had even opened his mouth. 'Don't start.'

'Your Grace, I-'

'Nothing happened,' Daenerys snapped, stumbling slightly as the ship swerved again; the storm outside didn't appear to be calming down in the slightest.

'Well I must insist you make sure it never does!' Tyrion urged.

'And why should I?' Daenerys demanded.

There was a stunned silence. It was the first time that Daenerys hadn't denied what Tyrion had long been suggesting.

He sighed sympathetically at her. 'Forming a romantic attachment, given the state of things, is hardly the wisest thing someone in your position should do. You _must_ see that,' he said reprovingly.

Daenerys frowned. 'You said yourself back in Meereen that an alliance through a marriage-'

'-Would be advantageous if it were purely political, yes, but _this_…this is something else entirely,' Tyrion said, his tone almost wary. 'It's something so much more, for both of you, it's as plain as the nose on your face.'

'So what would you have me do? Force myself to feel nothing?' Daenerys asked sharply, scowling at him as they both struggled to keep standing upright.

'I know better than most that that would be an impossible task. But you must try and keep your feelings at bay. At least, for now,' Tyrion said. 'We cannot afford any complications in this war. We need you, _and_ Jon Snow, to be focussed on what is to come.'

Daenerys felt her nostrils begin to flare. 'Tyrion, do you think me incapable of keeping my mind set on the task I have worked my whole life towards? You think I'm suddenly going to forget about the White Walkers and Cersei just because of a man?'

'Of course I don't think that,' Tyrion said in a small voice.

'Then I don't see why you're so against me…being free to do or feel whatever I choose. I am capable of being queen and of loving a man at the same time,' Daenerys said fiercely, and Tyrion's eyes widened in astonishment. 'It does not make me weak or unable to rule the Seven-'

'You love him?'

Daenerys faltered, and said nothing. Her flustered expression and reddened cheeks were answer enough.

Tyrion was shocked. Affection, yes. Lust, yes. But love? In all the time he had been counselling Daenerys, he had never once worried in the slightest about her falling in love, not even when she had been involved with Daario Naharis. But Jon Snow was no Daario. He was so much more. He had completely captured Daenerys' heart, Tyrion could see that now.

'I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning, Tyrion,' Daenerys said firmly, moving unsteadily towards the door as the ship swayed to the side again. 'As I understand it, we should be back at Dragonstone by nightfall tomorrow. Goodnight.'

Tyrion sighed in defeat; he knew a lost cause when he saw one. 'Goodnight, Your Grace,' he said heavily.

She left and shut the cabin door behind her just as the ship was knocked over to one side once again; Tyrion stumbled to the floor. He stared at the two empty wine goblets as they rolled about on the wooden panelling, and cursed under his breath. This wasn't good. He sat down, and rested his back against one of the chairs, where he spent the next few hours dwelling on this new 'situation' between Jon and Daenerys, all the while staring at the goblets as they clattered against each other while the storm persisted outside.


	12. Sailing Together

**Based on events during Episode 7 of GoT Season 7**

* * *

For the very first time, Dragonstone felt like home to Daenerys when they disembarked from the ship onto its damp shore the next day. As dreary and gloomy as it was here on this rock, Daenerys had somewhat got used to it, and now had nice associations with the castle and cliffs – most of them related to Jon's presence, of course. She had even missed being away from it for so long.

She and Jon spent what little time remained of their journey in the company of their advisors; neither of them felt brave enough yet to spend time alone with the other and address what had almost transpired in the dining cabin last night. But that didn't stop them looking longingly at each other from afar, and it was difficult to act as if nothing had happened between the two of them. Once they had all settled back in the castle that evening, Jon could stand it no longer – he had to go and see her. With a knowing smile, Missandei informed him as to where she was, and so Jon quickly hurried along to the chamber of the painted table, anxious to see the woman whose face he simply could not get out of his head.

When he entered the map room, Daenerys was stood with her back to him, looking out at the ocean as the sun slowly began to set. Drogon and Rheagal were soaring above the sea. It was the first time she had looked upon that view and seen only two dragons, not three. It made her heart ache with misery. But then she heard Jon clear his throat behind her; surprised, she turned around and her eyes widened when they met his earnest gaze. They hadn't been alone together since last night in the dining cabin. It made Daenerys terrifically nervous.

Jon swallowed. 'Your Grace, I-'

Daenerys stared at him, her expression almost angry.

Jon chuckled. 'Sorry. Daenerys,' he corrected himself.

'Jon,' she greeted.

There was a pause, during which they both simply gazed at each other. She couldn't find any words. Nor, it seemed, could he. Jon took a hesitant step forward, then seemed to think better of it and stopped. Daenerys was breathing deeply as she watched him, her heart racing.

Eventually, Jon found it in him to speak. 'I'm sorry about last night,' he said, averting his gaze briefly. 'During the storm.'

Daenerys' heart would have sunk if she had believed his words for one second. But she did not. She knew him. Looking down briefly at the map of her kingdoms, she then took a deep breath and walked around the table to close the distance between them.

'I'm not,' Daenerys murmured, her eyes boring into his.

Jon's expression flickered momentarily as the relief and happiness washed over him, but he soon recovered his expression. 'No, I'm not either,' he admitted, taking a few steps closer to her.

They continued to gaze longingly at each other, and, ever so slowly, a small smile began to form on both their lips. Jon wanted nothing more than to rush up to her and take her in his arms and kiss her then and there, but before he could act on this impulse, there came the sound of footsteps approaching across the stone floor.

Ser Davos cleared her throat awkwardly as he hovered in the chamber entrance. 'Err…apologies, I, err…our supper has been served, Your Grace,' he announced.

Jon barely refrained from rolling his eyes; why was it that they always managed to get interrupted? 'Thank you, Ser Davos,' he replied.

He turned back to Daenerys. There was an almost hungry look in her eyes that he had not seen before.

She smiled as she addressed both Jon and Ser Davos. 'You will both join us for the council meeting tomorrow morning?'

'Of course,' Jon reassured her.

Daenerys nodded and backed away from him. 'I will see you both tomorrow then.'

'Thank you, Your Grace,' Jon said, and both she and Davos smirked to themselves at his formality.

Jon and Ser Davos then left the map room. The moment Daenerys was out of earshot, Davos began to chuckle.

'You've decided against calling her 'Dany' then, I take it?' Davos said teasingly.

Jon rolled his eyes; he wished he'd never confided in Davos about that. 'Oh, shut it,' he muttered, embarrassed, but he couldn't help grinning to himself as they walked on back out of the audience chamber.

* * *

The small war council meeting the next morning was brief and decisive. They were planning travel arrangements to Winterfell in order to unify Daenerys' and Jon's forces against the White Walkers, and at Daenerys' request, Jon took the lead in the discussion.

'If we have the Dothraki ride hard on the Kingsroad, they'll arrive at Winterfell within the fortnight,' Jon was saying, gesturing on the map table.

'And the Unsullied?' Daenerys asked from the end of the table.

'We can sail with them to White Harbor, meet the Dothraki here on the Kingsroad,' Jon went on, indicating on the map, 'then ride together to Winterfell.'

There was that word again. _Together_. The way he looked directly at her when he said it. It made Daenerys' heart soar.

'Perhaps you should fly to Winterfell, Your Grace,' Ser Jorah suggested warily, and Daenerys looked up at him. 'You have many enemies in the North. Thousands fell fighting your father. All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow. He'll see your silver hair on the Kingsroad and know that one well-placed bolt will make him a hero. The man who killed the conqueror.'

Daenerys didn't know what to say. She knew Ser Jorah had a point. It was logical of him to be cautious. And yet she didn't want to travel separately from Jon. She couldn't be parted from him. Jon seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

'It's your decision, Your Grace. But if we're going to be allies in this war, it's important for the Northerners to see us as allies,' Jon said, trying to keep his tone and gaze casual in front of everyone as he looked up at her. 'If we sail to White Harbor together, I think it sends a better message.'

There was a silence as Daenerys thought carefully about her two options. On the one hand, it would be safer to fly there separately. On the other hand, it would unite her and Jon further if they were to travel together…and after what had almost happened the other night in the dining cabin, it could certainly be assured that it would be an…_interesting_ journey. Everyone turned to look at her, waiting expectantly for her answer.

Eventually, Daenerys spoke up. 'I've not come to conquer the North,' she said, addressing Jorah. 'I'm coming to save the North.'

She turned to face Jon across the table from her. Her look was almost smouldering; it made Jon's heart skip a beat.

'We sail together,' she said softly, her voice ringing out across the chamber.

Jon nodded, a hint of a smile on his face as he looked away from her intense gaze, the anticipation rising in him. He exhaled deeply as he gazed back up at her, his heart racing. There was no turning back now.

She had agreed to sail with Jon so that the North could see her as a liberator and an ally. At least, that was what they both wanted everyone to believe. Jorah, who suspected a different reason for Daenerys' decision, threw a sceptical look, which Daenerys noticed but avoided. She didn't want to argue with him. She was too excited to argue; she could barely even contain her smile as she struggled to know what to do with her hands. She knew what she was doing by agreeing to Jon's suggestion. They both knew.

'When would you like to depart, Your Grace?' Jon asked.

'As soon as possible.'

Daenerys said it without thinking, and blushed fiercely as Jon raised his eyebrows at her, a hint of a bemused smirk on his face.

'I should think…would be the best option,' she went on hastily, clearing her throat. 'Wouldn't you agree, Tyrion?'

'Yes, Your Grace,' Tyrion said, his tone unimpressed. 'As soon as possible.'

'Ser Davos and I will fetch the remaining Dragonglass,' Jon said, exchanging a nod with his advisor. 'Would tomorrow be suitable?'

'I think we can be ready to leave by tomorrow, if everyone else is in agreement?' Daenerys said encouragingly, glancing around the table at her advisors.

There were general murmurs of assent around the table.

She smiled, barely concealing her triumph. 'Then it's settled.'

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Jon spent most of his time in the caves collecting the remaining Dragonglass while Daenerys gathered all her belongings and discussed further strategies with Tyrion in preparation for their upcoming trip. Tyrion made no further mention of her and Jon's complicated relationship; he knew there was no point now. It was fairly obvious what was going to happen, and he could do nothing to stop it.

By the next evening, all the weapons and soldiers were on board the ship. All that was left was for Daenerys to signal that it was time to leave. She and Jon were stood on the upper deck, both of them staring up at the great castle looming on the cliffs above them. Daenerys couldn't help wondering if she would ever see it again.

'Will you miss it?' Jon asked quietly, as if he could read her mind.

'A little,' Daenerys murmured. 'But it was never my home really. It should have been, and…it felt like it was, briefly…but it wasn't. Not truly.'

Jon frowned sympathetically. 'And…you're absolutely sure you want to come to Winterfell?'

'Yes. I'm sure,' Daenerys replied, and she looked at him and smiled. 'Wherever you go, I go.'

Jon tilted his head at her. 'Is that right?'

Daenerys' cheeks reddened as she continued to smile at him, but before she had time to respond, Varys had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, beside them.

'Are you ready for departure, Your Grace?' Varys asked, glancing warily at the two.

Daenerys turned to take one last look at Dragonstone. 'Yes,' she said decisively, and she turned her gaze to Jon, who smiled tenderly at her. 'I'm ready.'

Not long after the ship set sail, Jon and Daenerys were escorted below decks for yet more small war council meetings in the dining cabin with their advisors. It was with an unusually optimistic air that they discussed their predicament as a group; now they had the assurance of Cersei and her armies, it seemed that they might actually stand a chance against the White Walkers. And this was all they needed to keep their spirits up for the long journey ahead of them.

When darkness fell outside, the group finally disassembled to retire to their separate cabins for bed. Jon and Daenerys paused as they turned to walk in opposite directions down the narrow corridor of the decks. A lingering look passed between them.

'Goodnight,' Jon said to her quietly.

'Goodnight,' Daenerys murmured, her eyes gazing into his.

Swallowing, Jon then turned and went around the corner towards his own cabin, shaken by the look on her face. It was a good job no one else had been around to see that, or the gossip on this ship would have become even worse than it already was.

Once he'd shut the door to his cabin, Jon crossed the room and sank onto his bed, where he buried his face in hands, his heart racing. He was in turmoil. Something had changed. He could practically taste the tension in the air, particularly after that brief tumble in the dining cabin the other night in which they had been forced even closer. What were they waiting for? They both knew they wanted this…not out of pain, or comfort…but out of true and real feelings. And all they had to do was act on it.

It was now or never. With the pressures of the White Walker threat and the war they were facing, Jon could truly see that now. _'If we die, we die. But first, we'll live.'_ He couldn't waste any more time than he already had. It was time.

His decision made, Jon leapt up from his bed and left his cabin, closing the door behind him. He walked quietly down the corridors towards Daenerys' cabin, not wanting to wake anyone or alert any people sneaking about as to what he was doing. When he approached her door, he paused and took a deep breath. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he knew she wanted it too. All he had to do was find the courage to knock.

So he did.

His hand hesitated for a fraction of a second before he finally rapped his knuckle on the door. Jon closed his eyes in half-regret and looked down, waiting with baited breath. He found himself trying to think of some innocent excuse to back out of his real reason for knocking on her door at such a late hour; after all, she would undoubtedly turn him away. Or would she?

His heart skipped a beat as Daenerys answered the door and met his gaze without words. She was pleasantly surprised to see him there – although she knew exactly why he had come – and was completely dazed by the look on his face. He was gazing into her eyes like she was the only woman in the world, like she was an angel meant only for him. It was a look that changed everything. He could see a similar feeling reflected in her eyes as well, in the smouldering warmth that took over them. It halted him slightly; he had never seen her look at him that way before. It was full of certainty, a promise that she had never been surer, that she had never known what he meant so completely until now, that she knew him for the person he had grown into. And as he gazed back at her he knew there was no doubt left between them. He loved her, and she loved him.

Without taking her eyes off him, with the smallest hint of a half-smile on her face, Daenerys slowly, tantalisingly opened the door wider, allowing him room to enter. They both knew what it meant if he stepped through. And Jon knew that when he made his move now, that would be it. She would be his, as he would be hers. All this time waiting and pining, both unsure how the other felt and what was right, all those longing glances, those tantalising touches, those secret smiles…it had all led down to this moment, right here.

Looking at her now, this wonderful, wonderful woman stood before him, Jon then completely forgot what life had been like before Daenerys Targaryen had stumbled into his troubling world and turned it into something worth living for. In fact, he forgot pretty much everything. All that mattered was her, and she was here, beckoning him wordlessly into her room, her eyes showing nothing but pure devotion and longing for the man before her, and so Jon did what any sane person lucky enough to be in his position would do.

He slowly walked into her candlelit cabin; Daenerys couldn't take her eyes off him as he entered. She was utterly captivated. A sense of anticipation and longing hovered in the air between them as Jon slowly shut the door, his smouldering eyes never leaving hers. Her eyes glanced briefly to his lips; she wanted this just as much as he did. Both their hearts were beating so fast, they were surprised the other couldn't hear it.

Daenerys barely had time to register the intensity of his brown eyes, burning with desire, before Jon leaned down and kissed her. A kiss to end all kisses. The moment Jon's lips touched hers, Daenerys felt an overwhelming release of sheer joy, as if she had been holding back from true happiness for so long, and now finally she was letting go.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him; she kissed him back tenderly and moved her arms up to his chest and around his neck. It felt like every stolen moment between them had led to this, and yet at the same time it felt as if they had been doing this for as long as they had known each other. It felt so natural to be together like this; their lips moved in perfect synchrony, their arms perfectly wrapped around each other so that they were pressed closely together. Daenerys' fingers stroked through Jon's unruly hair as he moved his hands up from her waist to caress her cheeks and neck, as if he were cherishing the feeling of holding her like this.

Jon's nose brushed against Daenerys as he tilted his head, breaking away briefly to gaze into her eyes, and he smiled as she brought his lips hungrily back to hers in another slow, tender kiss. It was a blissful relief, in a way, for them to kiss each other like this when it was all they had wanted to do for so long. His hands ran through her hair and she cupped his cheeks; they ended up bumping foreheads and both laughed softly against each other's lips. When they eventually broke apart, there was a small, dazed smile of disbelief on Jon's face; he looked as if he had wanted this forever. Daenerys rested both her hands against his chest as he planted multiple kisses on her cheeks, eyelids, nose and forehead, before finally resting his lips once more against hers.

When they leaned apart again, Jon cupped Daenerys' hands in his own and pressed his lips affectionately to them as he held them against his chest, where she could feel his heart racing. Daenerys looked down at their intertwined hands for a moment, relishing in the feeling of his fingers wrapped so gently around hers, before gazing back into his smouldering eyes.

'Daenerys, I…' But Jon fell silent when Daenerys rested her forehead against his.

'I know,' she murmured lovingly.

Kissing his hands, she then let go and moved over towards the bed. She turned around, breathing deeply, and looked down at the mattress and its covers and pillows, realising what was about to happen. She could hear Jon breathing nervously not far behind her. Passion burning inside, Daenerys turned back to him. They looked at each other for a moment, realising that they had never wanted anything more. Jon could see, just from taking in her heart-stopping expression, that Daenerys wasn't nervous in the slightest. She wasn't overthinking or worrying about what would happen, or what would change. She was sure of one thing, and that was Jon.

There was no hesitation as Jon slowly approached her, although he couldn't help swallowing nervously; the way she was looking at him was breathtaking in its intimacy. It was filled with such promise. He couldn't stop gazing back into her captivating eyes. He closed the distance between them in merely a few seductive steps while his eyes flickered longingly to her lips. He looked as if he wanted to devour her and yet also cradle her, and it was this that made Daenerys even more certain as her eyes also glanced down at his lips before meeting his gaze once more, her face nearing his. Jon reached out to gently stroke her cheek. She was in awe of the amount of love in his expression. No doubt, no fear, just love. Was it any wonder that she couldn't take her eyes off of him? He was bewitching. And she knew that there was no turning back and there were no doubts. This was what they both wanted. This was something they had been ready for since the moment they had first clasped eyes on each other in that gloomy audience chamber back at Dragonstone's castle. It was time to do what their hearts had been longing for them to do for a very long time.

Never taking her eyes off him, Daenerys began to undo the many clasps and buttons of his armour and collar with fumbling fingers; they began to laugh softly as she struggled. Taking her hands in his own, Jon helped her, and soon his armour had been removed, leaving only a shirt underneath. He kept his eyes locked on hers as she then slowly began to undo her dress. She let it fall to the floor, revealing her undergarments, and reached for his belt. Before she undid the buckle, Jon cupped her face with his hand and pressed his lips to hers, while slowly stroking her bare shoulder as he removed her slip. Her hands became steady as she took off his belt, and he stepped out of his trousers easily before removing his shirt with one swift movement of his arms. Daenerys froze for a moment as she stared at his bare, muscled chest. She reached out and began to stroke each of his scars; her touch filled him with warmth and longing. And then she slowly held up her arms; maintaining her smouldering gaze, Jon lifted her slip over the top of her head, leaving her naked, like himself. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her lips parted as if to say something, but his smouldering gaze left her completely speechless. Leaning down, Jon's nose touched hers softly, their foreheads against each other's, before he leaned away slightly just to look into her eyes. He was so affectionate, so gentle…and all he wanted to do was cherish and love the amazing woman stood before him right now. Daenerys smiled lovingly at him, her fingers still stroking the scars on his chest. They were completely consumed in each other. They had both wanted this for so long…and it was finally happening. He wanted to remember this moment. He wanted to remember this forever.

Breaking apart only to whisper Daenerys' name and cup her face, gazing down at her adoringly, Jon then backed her slowly, tantalisingly up against the bed, the look in her eyes seductive as he brought her lips passionately back to his. And then he gently lay her down on the bed, and the two smitten lovers melted into each other's arms.

Jon realised that, with Daenerys, this was different. This wasn't normal sex. This was making love. It had never been like this before, for either of them. This was beyond bliss. It wasn't just a bodily pleasure; it was a connection, an eternal bond taking place between two soulmates who loved each other. As they stopped for a moment and looked into each other's eyes, they were overcome with this feeling – they didn't understand it, and they didn't know nor care about the consequences. They were driven by passion into this. Jon took a great shuddering breath as he looked down at Daenerys' beautiful face gazing up at him, her eyes watering with joy. He was in awe; it felt as if destiny had brought them together. Even if they knew it was wrong, even if they knew it was undoubtedly going to cause problems in the near future…their feelings were so deep, so _strong_, they couldn't stop it from happening. They didn't want to ever stop it from happening. They were one in that blissful moment they came together, and neither of them could remember ever feeling as happy as they did while they held and kissed and cherished every inch of each other.

It was a night that both Jon and Daenerys knew they would never ever forget. A night where they came together and realised that their love was irrevocable. And they both knew that there was nothing in this world that could change that now.

* * *

**This is it for now! Hope you all enjoyed, and thank you so much for your kind messages and reviews :) **

**I'll be updating this story once Season 8 has finished. I can't predict how Jon and Daenerys' story will end (though I'm going to guess it won't be happily, because it's Game of Thrones) so I'm mentally preparing myself for a lot of angst...though I'll keep my fingers crossed for a bittersweet resolution for both these characters!**

**UPDATE: So...Season 8 happened. Obviously, I'm very distressed by how things ended for Jonerys (yep, it's been over a month and I'm still not over it) so I'm taking a break from this fanfiction until I've come to terms with the bizarre writing this season. I might write my own interpretation of what SHOULD have happened with Jon and Daenerys in Season 8 at some point in the near future once I've got past the 'anger' phase of my grief for Game of Thrones haha...**

**Thank you for everyone's kind messages and reviews! The feedback really has meant so much and I love to do what I can to improve my writing, so I really appreciate it :) **


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